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I PUBLISHED /AONTHLY $ 6.00 PER YEAR 


THE 

MERRIAM CO/APANY 



PUBLISHERS 

NEWYORK 




Entered at the Post Office at New York as second*cIass matter 




N 


OW IN ITS I3IST THOUSAND 






Two Bad... 
Brown Eyes 


By MARIE ST. FELIX 

Author of “A Little Game with Destiny.” 


* Two Bad Brown Eyes ’ bids fair to gain the same popularity that her formei | 
book has won. The story is very well told. The interest never flags from begin- 
ning to end. And the book is thoroughly worth reading.’’ — Cincinnati Enquirer. ! 
'' The book is bold, outspoken, and void of dulness.” — Brooklyn Times. | 

Price, Cloth, $1.00; Paper, 50 Cents 


NOW IN ITS I59TH THOUSAND 


vmKM 


A SEQUEL TO 

“TWO BAD BROWN EYE5/’i 


By MARIE ST. FELIX 


“ The author writes brightly, is a keen observer of manners and customs, andi 
serves up a perilous situation like an East Indian currie. Those who have read the 
previous volumes will not fall asleep while reading ‘ Patricia.’ ” — Boston Times. ! 

^‘The author certainly understands the feminine nature, and her dissecting 
knife lays bare the hidden springs of feminine weakness and vanity.” — New York 
World. 

^‘The story is graphic and vivid and will not disappoint those who are accus-! 
tomed to read light literature.” — New York Herald. | 

Price, Cloth, $1.00; Paper, 50 Cents , 


FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, OR WILL BE SENT, POST-PAID, UPON 
RECEIPT OF PRICE BY 

THE MERRIAM COMPANY 

Publishers and Booksellers 

67 Fifth Avenue ...... New York 


MR. DUNTON’S INVENTION 


Hnt) ©tber Stories 


V' 

BY 

JULIAN HAWTHORNE 

Author of “A Fool of Natufe.” Etc. 



NEW YORK 

THE MERRIAM COMPANY 

67 Fifth Avenue 



^^^►^YRIGHT, 1893 
BY 

THE PRICE-McGILL CO. 


Copyright, 1896 

BY 

MERRIAM COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


J Mr. Dunton’s Invention, 

\/ Greaves’ Disappearance, - - - 

* Rax worthy’s Treasure, - - - 

" The John North Mystery, - 
^ A Model Murder, - - 

v-'The Symposium, - - - - 

The Author’s Story, - - - 

The Virtuoso’s Story, - 
, The Electrical Engineer’s Story, 
The Captain’s Story, - 
. The Unseen Man’s Story, 

The Swarthy Man’s Story, - 
The Irishman’s Story, 

My Own Story, - - - 


PAGE. 

27 
51 
79 
103 
125 
'128 
148 
169 
196 
218 
254 
■ 288 
317 



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MR. DUNTON’S INVENTION. 


ROSSING Broadway, oppo- 
site the post office, I jumped 
to get out of the way of a 
galloping wagon-horse, and 
collided violently with the 
shoulder of a big man in 
dingy gray clothes, who 
was striding up town. He 
turned upon me with a sort 
of large, slow indignation, 
and the next moment we were laughing and shak- 
ing hands. It was Charley Northam. He looked 
bigger, paler, and more impenetrable than ever. 
Northam is always hiding something, or has some- 
thing in reserve ; not that anything in his circum- 
stances makes reserve necessary, but he loves mys- 
tery for its own sake, and enjoys luring you on to 



10 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


investigate. His small gray eyes contemplate yon 
with a smile of repressed superior information. 
His speech and bearing, outwardly courteous and 
even deferential, are inwardly satiric. He cultivates 
a subtle vein of mockery, and has a stock of cynical 
phrases, which he repeats a propos des bottes. 
His general purpose is to be impressive — to com- 
mand attention and to be waited for. In other 
words. Big Northam is always posing. 

Big though his bodily manifestation is, he is so 
cunning and agile of mind that you must be quick 
indeed to put your hand on him. Brains he has in 
abundance, but there is an odd bias in him; he 
affects queer company, and meets with outlandish 
adventures. Sometimes it pleases him to play the 
anarchist, and he will attend Herr Most^s meet- 
ings and shout and shoulder about and declaim on 
the abolition of wealth and the religion of human- 
ity. At other times he is an art critic and connois- 
seur, with books and pictures of inestimable rarity 
to show you. Again, you will find him immersed 
in the peaceful avocations of commerce, or, drop- 
ping in, by way of an experience, at the Bowery 
Theatre, you will behold a stout, pale man fiddling 
away industriously in the orchestra, or, it may be 
declaiming from the stage. But it would take 


MR. DUNTON’S invention. 


11 


long to paint the full-length portrait of Charley 
Northam, and we have other business in hand just 
now. 

After shaking hands he tucked my arm under his 
own, his big fat elbow pressing against my ribs, 
and drew me along with him. 

‘‘Have you — er — satisfied the cravings of the 
inner man? ” asked he, in his quasi-jocose vein. It 
was between twelve and one o^clock, and New 
York was plunging to and from lunch. 

‘‘I was just thinking of it. Let us go to Marco’s. 
There’s a quiet table there, and first-class Bur- 
gundy at a dollar a bottle.” But Northam smiled 
in a superior way and shook his head. 

^‘No; we shall be sure to meet Bloomer there, 
and you know how many kinds of an ass he is. 
Come with me. I will show you something. I’ll 
introduce you and stand your sponsor. Do you 
know — have you been initiated at Sam’s ? ” 

Sam’s ? ” 

‘^I thought so. And yet, I suppose, you profess 
to know your New York. Why, my dear friend, 
Sam’s is the place in town. It is the Mecca of 
interest and adventure. Sam and I are old pals. 
Why, this will be the biggest kind of a treat for 


12 


SIX CENT SAm’S. 


you. For cliaracter, human nature, plots, you 
don^t need to go outside of Sam’s. Six Cent Sam’s 
is a world.” 

‘^It doesn’t sound expensive, anyhow. Where 
is it ? ” 

‘ ‘ Place yourself under my guidance. Ten minutes 
on the L and we are there. I am delighted to be 
the means of bringing Sam and you together. It 
may have results.” 

“What is Sam ? A man, or a place ? ” 

“Both, emphatically both. The place is as 
famous in its way as Delmonico’s. For that mat- 
ter, Del’s is vulgar, compared with it — vulgar, sir. 
Del’s entertains the Upper Ten, and makes them 
pay through the nose for it. Sam entertains the 
world — and it pays them.” 

“A good deal of a crowd there, is there? ” 

“By no means. No, not the world as to num- 
bers, but as to quality. He brings together the 
heights and the depths, affluence and penury, the 
patrician and the plebeian.” 

“All for six cents ? ” 

“All for six cents,” echoed Northam, with his 
patronizing smile. “ Of course, that’s more or less 
figurative. You pay six cents to get in. Unless 
Sam likes your looks, though, you don’t get in at 


MR. DUNTON’S invention. 


13 


any price. Your six cents entitles you to certain 
privileges — a seat at a table, bread and butter, 
soup, coflfee, or milk — a meal for a king. But you 
may command what more your purse will buy. 
You are subject to certain rules, as to drunken- 
ness, noise, and so forth. Sam is an autocrat — a 
despot — the only absolute one I have ever known. 
But he is always beneficent. He is a man and a 
mystery.” 

In pronouncing these words, Northam lowered 
and deepened his voice, and glanced at me porten- 
tously. 

mystery, is it? What sort of a mystery 
can — ” 

The train was approaching Bleeker street, and 
Northam, laying his huge hand lightly on my 
arm, murmured : 

We are here.” 

When we were in the street, I repeated: 

‘ ‘ What mystery — ” 

^‘Ah, a mystery as is a mystery,” he rejoined. 
‘^Thoroughly shrunk, clear wove, a yard wide, 
none other in the market. To begin with, you are 
to know that nobody knows who Sam is. Sam is 
bis name, and no one knows any other name of 
bim» None knows who or whence he is. There 


14 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


are some who will tell yoaheis a prince in disguise; 
others have it that he is our coming dictator. He 
is everything, and he is nothing — nothing but Six 
Cent Sam. Call him, if you will, a mixture of 
Saint Paul and the devil. I can tell you no more. 
You must judge for yourself. We turn to the left. 
Here we are. Keep hold of my arm.” 

I had not been noticing just where we were 
going. When we entered Six Cent Sanies door I 
could not have said what street or avenue it was 
on. We stepped into an enclosed porch, which was 
glazed as to its upper portion, and had an aper- 
ture therein for the reception of coin. Looking 
through the glass panel, I met the glance of an eye 
— quick, masterful and penetrating — which held 
mine for a moment, and then the lid of the aper- 
ture slid back with a click. ^^Put your fare in,” 
said Northam. ^HPs against the rules for me to 
pay for you. Everyone on his own bottom, or not 
at all, here. A cent and' a nickel — all right. 
Enter.” 

The door slid on its grooves, and we went in. 
There was nothing at first sight remarkable in the 
look of the interior. The man with the masterful 
eyes stood or sat in a box close to the door, and, 
by means of a spring, worked the money aperture 


MR. DUNTON’S invention. 


15 


and the door itself. The room beyond was forty 
feet long, with a passageway down the center 
between two rows of vStalls, each containing a 
table and benches. The guests were screened from 
one another, but, by an arrangement of mirrors, it 
was possible for the proprietor from his place to 
see the interior of every box, and knew what was 
going on in it. There were two or three quiet, 
elderly waiters, and the place wore a sober, 
respectable aspect. 

^‘My friend, here,” said Northam, presenting me 
to the proprietor, ^4s one of the right sort, and will 
be an acquisition. Anything going on ? ” 

You might try the third box this way,” replied 
Sam, in a deep, muffled voice. ^^You know 
Dunton? You are welcome here,” he added to me. 

You will soon catch our style. Hope to see you 
often.” 

I bowed, and the audience was over. But I felt 
that in those few moments my host^s eyes had 
seen further into me than most eyes do. Northam 
drew me along, and we approached the entrance 
to box three. 

“One word,” said Northam, suddenly facing me 
with half shut eyes, and resting his hand on my 
shoulder. “It’s a rule here that any guest may 


16 


SIX CKNT SAM’S. 


offer to treat another, but if the offer is accepted 
the guest is bound to entertain his host with a true 
story of his adventures. Am I understood? Very 
good. Now, this Dunton is an inventor. He has 
met with a rather odd misfortune, and a few 
weeks ago he laid his case before Sam. You heard 
what Sam said just now? 

^Hs this a private detective agency, or what?^^ 
I demanded. 

‘‘I told you just now that Sam is a mystery. I 
say no more at present. Let us open negotiations 
with Mr. Dunton. This way.’’ 

We entered the box, where a thin, middle-aged 
man sat sipping a bowl of soup, into which he had 
crumbled some bread. He looked up at Northam 
with a courteous gesture. 

“Good morning, Mr. Dunton,” said the latter. 
“Know my friend, here. He is one of us. Now, 
let me enlarge your order by, say, a juicy sirloin 
and a bottle of Beaune. And how comes on the 
great case ? ” 

“ You are very kind ; be seated, gentlemen,” said 
Dunton. “But I should say,” he added, “that 
there is nothing new as yet in my matter.” 

“Nothing new to you and me, perhaps, but all 
new to our friend here. Refresh his thirsty ears 


MR. DUNTON’S invention. 


17 


with your narrative. The steak and fixings will 
be here immediately.’^ 

Mr. Dunton gave me a momentary, intent 
glance. His fine, sensitive 
face showed more intellect 
than will, and there was in 
his eyes an abstracted ex- 
pression indicating an emo- 
tional nature. There were 
marks of grief and disap- 
pointment on his counte- 
nance, yet an occasional uplifting of the brows 
indicated a man not altogether beaten. 

think I may speak before you,” he said, after 
a little hesitation. ‘^Are you, perhaps, interested 
in the advance of electrical science, and such 
things? ” 

am more interested than informed. I am a 
good listener.” 

^^Most astonishing business I ever heard of,” 
remarked Northam, ^4f thafs any significance,’’ 
he added, sniffing through his nose, and nodding 
his head ominously. 

All we inventors are trying to get at what lies 
behind electricity,” said Dunton. ‘‘Electricity is a 
result of a precedent state, and it seems probable 



18 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


that this precedent state is itself the Supreme 
Force in nature — ^the direct material analogue of 
the Creator/^ 

He had an agreeable, highly-modulated voice, 
and his earnestness bred attention. There is a 
touch of the poet in every true inventor. 

‘‘Now, sir, he continued, “I am one of those 
cursed with a yearning to penetrate into the 
inmost shrine of the Temple of Isis, and I am com- 
paratively indifferent to the allurements of the 
outer courts. All that the divine hand has made 
is good, but I am drawn to the secret spring of 
waters, and heed not the rainbows and thunders 
of the cataract. For is it not from the small and 
silent that all things truly great proceed ? 

Northam shook his head humorously. “The 
larger the bottle, the greater the inspiration,^^ 
quoth he. “And, in good time, I spy our inspira- 
tion coming toward us, with the steak hard upon 
its heels. DonT mind me, Dunton; you know my 
way. I am a barbarian, but I appreciate.’^ 

Dunton smiled faintly, and went on, addressing 
himself more particularly to me. Meanwhile 
Northam tested the temperature of the Burgundy 
and filled our glasses. 


MK. DUNTON’S invention. 


19 


needn’t give the details of my conception,” 
said Dunton; ‘^they are technical, and what you 
want, I take it, are the drama and the passion of 
the story. And that brings me to say that at the 
time I finished formulating my great idea, I entered 
into bonds of betrothal with a young girl, the 
daughter of a physician in the town where I lived. 
I cannot speak of my feeling for her. Recall your 
own deepest experience, and it may help you to 
understand me. Nor can I tell you of her beauty. 
She absorbed me ; I could not see her as I saw 
other women. I was too near her for that. How 
old a man do you think me, sir ? ” 

Surprised at the abruptness of the question, I 
I looked at him and answered, ‘‘About forty,” 
though he really looked older than that. 

“I am twenty-eight,” he said. “Three years 
ago, I was twenty years younger. It has all come 
upon me through her.” 

“Didn’t I say it was astonishing?” put in 
Northam, with the air of a proprietor. “ Here, try 
this bit of steak ; it won’t stop your ears, nor his 
tongue, either.” 

“I don’t say she didn’t care for me,” went on 
Dunton, whose thin blood the generous wine had 
warmed? •' I have thought it out a hundred times. 


20 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


I believe she did not know what was intended 
till it was too late. But you shall judge for your- 
self. Her father had some knowledge of science; 
he was older than I, — as oldasllook now, — a man 
of the world, and a fascinating man. I had no 
concealments from him. I discussed my invention 
with him constantly, she sitting by, watching and 
listening. He comprehended the greatness of the 
idea, and the stupendous results that would follow 
it. He flattered me and encouraged me. Perhaps 
even he intended no treachery then. Evil as well 
as good comes to men, they know not how. The 
seed finds its proper soil. It flowers in a night, 
and the sinner or the saint stands revealed to him- 
self and others. 

was troubled with a nervous affection and the 
doctor was treating me. He was a man of 
advanced notions, and had studied the methods of 
the French school, which is attempting to employ 
hypnotism as a curative agent. My disease failed 
to react to the customary treatment, and he finally 
asked me to let him try the effect of hypnosis. I 
was a good subject, but at first I was a little shy 
about submitting myself to the trance ; one does 
not like to surrender his will, even to a friend. 
However, I finally consented. 


MR. DUNTON’S invention. 


21 


‘‘To the surprise of both of us, he failed. It may 
have been due to the lack of some temperamental 
sympathy between us ; at all events the only effect 
upon me was a rather unpleasant excitement. He 
was visibly annoyed. ‘I am still convinced you 
are an excellent subject,’ said he. ‘I’m not the 
right operator for you, that’s all. It’s a pity, for 
I’m sure it would benefit you.’ 

“Then the girl came and stood over me, and put 
her hand on my head. ‘You are tired out,’ she 
said. ‘ Go to sleep and forget about it. Sleep, my 
love, sleep.’ 

“A cool, soothing influence flowed along my 
nerves from her touch. I felt composed and 
refreshed at once. I closed my eyes while she 
continued to pass her soft fingers over my hair. 
I felt that I was falling asleep, but it was like 
no sleep that I had known before. It was like 
the parting of soul and body in a happy death. 
Her spirit seemed to accompany mine on its happy 
journey. We left the earth behind us ; and I knew 
no more. 

“When I came to myself I was lying on a sofa in 
an inner room. The doctor sat beside me. She 
was gone. ‘That was a lucky chance,’ he said. 
‘ Y ou responded to her influence immediately. You 


22 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


are better already. You will owe your cure to 
her. Strange we shouldn’t have discovered her 
power before now. Perhaps love has something 
to do with it.’ 

certainly felt better than for many months. 
The treatment was continued from day to day. I 
had no reluetanee in yielding to her gentle power. 

should have told you that my invention was 
delayed by reason of a proeess — a problem that I 
could not solve. It had seemed a trifling thing at 
first, but the more I investigated it, the more vital 
did it turn out to be. It was the hinge on whieh 
the whole matter opened ; in other words, it was 
the secret that seience has been seeking from the 
beginning. I had penetrated further than the 
others, but I was still outside the shrine, and the 
door that was elosed against me seemed the most 
impregnable of all.” 

‘^Now listen to him — just listen to him,” mut- 
tered Northam. “I say nothing — not a word; but 
just you listen to him, that’s all,” and he refilled 
our glasses. 

One evening,” continued Dunton, with flushed 
cheeks and sparkling eyes, ‘‘we had been talking 
about the nature of theeffect of hypnosis upon the 
brain. The theory commonly accepted is, as you 


MR. DUNTON’s invention. 


23 


know, that it is in the nature of an inhibition of 
the cortical centers — a shutting-off of certain fac- 
ulties, notably that of self-determination, thereby 
placing the subject under the control of the opera- 
tor. But this theory fails to account for certain 
observed phenomena in trances ; there seems to be, 
if not actual initiative on the subject’s part, at 
least something strongly resembling independent 
mental movement. And the doctor espoused an 
hypothesis yet more advanced. 

recalled cases in which the subject had 
shown mental powers in a trance superior to those 
possessed in the normal state, and he drew a novel 
conclusion from this fact. ^Hypnotism,’ he said, 
^ instead of shutting up or crippling the mind, lib- 
erates and expands it. Take a great orator, for 
example : when he is surging forward on the waves 
of eloquence, carrying all hearts with him, when he 
loses consciousness of himself in the grandeur of his 
theme, is not he self-hypnotized ? The speech over, 
he cannot recall what he said; he has touched a 
height beyond the reach of art — has spoken words 
he never could have spoken in cold blood, of design 
aforethought. Contrast with him the man who 
rises for the first time in his life to make an after- 
dinner speech. Self-consciousness paralyzes him; 


24 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


his own voice is strange in his ears ; his thoughts 
refuse to flow ; he is bound hand and foot by that 
metaphysical Ego which is the tyrant and curse of 
humanity. He is in his normal state, and that — 
and not the condition we call hypnosis — is truly 
the state of inhibition. Or look at the poet who 
has written an immortal poem. He tells you that 
the verse was found not made; it came to him — he 
did not consciously compose it. When he found it, 
he had forgotten himself; and when he returned 
to himself he marvelled at what he had done. I 
tell you, genius itself is the faculty of self-hypnoti- 
zation, and not only that, but I am convinced that 
hypnotism may produce the effects of genius in 
those who, in the normal state, are commonplace. 
A man may slumber all his lifetime, and awake 
only in the free world of trance.’ 

^That is not a theory to flatter one’s vanity,’ 
I answered him, ^but you may be right. I wish 
that through the trance I might get insight to 
solve my problem.’ 

‘^He laughed and our talk ended. The hour for 
my daily treatment had come. She entered, and 
in a few moments my soul was elsewhere. How 
long I remained unconscious I have never known. I 
awoke in my own house, and alone. I was unable 


MR. DUNTON^S INVENTION. 


25 


to recall what had happened ; some command of 
oblivion seemed to have been laid upon me. I 
could not even recall the face or the name of the 
woman I loved, or of the doctor. For a time I 
was separated from that region of my life, and 
could not find my way back to it. I suffered from 
a vague distress and anxiety which I could not 
explain to myself. For a week this blankness con- 
tinued, and then, all at once, memory returned. 
I went immediately to the doctor^s house, but the 
blinds were closed and no one answered the bell. 
On inquiry, I learned that the doctor and his 
daughter had left town several days before. 

‘‘I will cut my story short,” added Dunton, 
emptying his wine glass . ‘ ^ What my heart endured 
you can imagine. I could find no trace of them, 
nor could I understand the reason of their disap- 
pearance. But one day a friend told me that an 
invention similar to mine had just been patented 
at Washington. I was not long in getting to 
the patent office. There I was shown the model 
and specifications. The invention was my own 
in every detail, but the problem that had defeated 
me was solved. For a time, I was bewildered; 
but at length the truth dawned on me. While I 
was in the trance, they had led my mind to my 


26 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


inveiition, and I had been drawn on to solve the 
problem. The doetor had thereupon appropriated 
it, and fled. Had he been alone, I would have 
pursued him to the bitter end ; but it was she who 
had wrought the evil. I loved her; I love her 
still; and — I have done nothing.’^ 
“DidnT I say it was astonish- 
ing?^’ murmured Northam. 
‘‘Waiter, bring the other bottle.” 
At this juncture Six Cent Sam. 
appeared, with a lady. 

She was young, fair, very 
pale, and dressed in black. 

“Dunton,” said Sam, “this 
lady wants to speak to you.” 

Dunton looked up in sur- 
prise; then passed his hand 
over his forehead, and cried : 
“Helen!” 

“He is dead,” she said, in a low, husky voice. 
“I have come to give you back your own. But, 
oh, Edward, I did not know what he meant to do. 
Can you forgive me ? ” 

“Let’s leave the young folks alone, gentlemen,” 
said Sam to Northam and me; “they have other 
problems to solve besides the one you’ve just been 
hearing about.” 





We were four in the club smoking room that 
October afternoon. The weather was gusty and 
inclement, and we were out of sorts. Perhaps our 
having been up till two or three o’clock the 
night before may have had something to do with 
our gloomy sensations. Twelve hours had elapsed 
since we had left the card table, and permitted 
yawning Thomas to go to bed. We had dispersed 
to our various abiding places, slept till noon, and 
drifted back to the club and breakfast. Hardly 
anyone besides ourselves was in the house. It 
was intolerably dull. What is one to do in town 
at three o’clock of a rainy October afternoon, after 
being up all night ? 


28 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


Allardice, the man-about-town par excellencey 
lay languid and relaxed in his easy-chair, his legs 
outstretched, his chin on his breast, and a black 
Mexican cigar between his teeth. [^His prominent 
gray eyes were half closed, some cigar ashes lay 
unheeded on his vest, and the light from the win- 
dow was reflected dimly on the bald summit of his 
cranium.^ Tinling, the poet and dramatic critic, 
reclined on the divan, his gray, abundant hair con- 
trasting oddly with his smooth pink-and-white face; 
the hand with the big seal ring on it lay romantic- 
ally and conspicuously on his heart. Gawtrey sat 
with his elbows on his knees, and his face between 
his hands, the small eyes in his big fat countenance 
blinking stupidly at the fire. He and Tinling had 
been wrangling about the merits or demerits of the 
new Persian dancer who had been attracting the 
town for some days past, and who was being 
advertised, free and otherwise, to a degree unex- 
ampled. Tinling had declared that she was “the 
peer — I do not say of Ellsler or Taglioni, but of 
Salome, the daughter of Herodias.^^ Gawtrey had 
replied that he had never seen the Herodias girl, or 
the other two, either; but that he could find 
women in any ordinary music hall, here or in Lon- 
don, who could knock the stuffing out of Mile, 


greaves’ disappearance. 


29 


Saki. Thereupon fell a silence, finally broken by 
Allardice. 

‘‘If no one else will, I suppose I must,” said he, 
leaning forward and touching the electric bell in 
the panel. “Think of what it’s to be, gentlemen.” 

We sighed and changed the position of our legs. 

“There should be a by-law specifying the correct 
drink for each hour of the day,” said someone. 
“Up to eleven p. m., at any rate, it’s too fatiguing 
to choose for one’s self.” 

“You might always order the same drink, you 
know, like Greaves, ’ ’ suggested Gawtrey . ‘ ‘ Grand 
Vin Sec is his tipple, and he never touches any 
other.” 

“Gawtrey has no discrimination,” murmured 
Tinling. “Greaves has a hundred thousand a 
year, youth, health and happiness.” 

“No rose without the thorn,” said Allardice. 
“He’s going to get married.” 

“That’s a pretty cheap article of cynicism, even 
before dinner,” rejoined Tinling. “In the first 
place, the girl comes of one of our best families. 
Baddely was a name famous in the old country 
centuries ago, and always respected. Secondly, 
Miss Baddely is a mighty fine girl, both in looks 


30 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


and otherwise ; and fifthly and sixthly, and to con- 
clude, Greaves is dead in love with her/^ 

‘^The Baddely, is it? ” grunted Gawtrey. “Why, 
they do n^t amount to a row of pins ! Met the old 
boy downtown. Ain^t worth a hundred thou- 
sand.” 

“The greater her good sense, to look with favor 
on Greaves’ suit,” was contributed by Allardice. 

Tinling closed his eyes. “You weary me,” he 
said. “She’s the most independent girl I know. 
If anything could make her jilt Greaves, it would 
be precisely his income. If Greaves were poor, 
she’d support him. She thinks women ought to 
support themselves, anyway.” 

“What can she do for a living?” someone 
inquired. 

“What could n’t she ? Anything, — ^from keeping 
a dancing school to running an American railroad 
system. She’s got genius.” 

“ That’s the reason Greaves didn’t join us last 
night,” remarked Gawtrey. “When a fellow gets 
gone on a girl, he may as well resign from his 
clubs. But I wish he’d given me my revenge first. 
Never saw anything like the hands that fellow held 
last time. Two flushes and a four-ace were some 
of ’em.” 


V 


greaves’ disappearance. 


31 


What is yours, sir ? inquired the pale but ever 
respectful Thomas, appearing at this juncture. 
Whereupon we all wearily began to try to think of 
something. 

In the midst of our deliberations, in came Fred 
Guise, looking quite pale and haggard. He nod- 
ded to us without speaking, and dropped into a 
chair. 

“Just in time,” said Allardice, “and you look as 
if you needed it. Ask Mr. Guise what hell have, 
Thomas.” 

“Absinthe cocktail,” said Guise, without falter- 
ing. “I^m knocked out. Haven’t seen the color 
of a bed since night before last. None of you chaps 
have heard anything new about him, of course? ” 

“ Guess not. About whom ? ” 

“Greaves, of course. Did you think I meant the 
Shah of Persia? ” inquired Guise, with a fine irony. 

“All we know about Greaves here is, that he 
promised to be here last night and didn’t mate- 
rialize,” said Gawtrey, with a yawn. “He owes 
me my revenge — ” 

“Do you mean to say you chaps have n’t heard?” 
interrupted Guise, sitting up and speaking slowly, 
as if astonishment weighted his utterance. “Why 
it’s nearly a day old ! ” 


32 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


its father known?’’ asked Allardice, lan- 
guidly. 

“What’s the matter, Fred? ” demanded Tinling, 
struck by something peculiar in Guise’s manner. 
“We’ve only just got up, you know, and you’re 
the first man that’s come in since — ” 

“Why, good God, the man’s disappeared,” 
exclaimed Guise, always in his characteristic low 
but distinct voice. “He vanished like the blowing 
out of a candle ! He was with me one moment, 
and the next, he was — well, he was gone ! ” 

“I say,” grunted Gawtrey, “draw it mild. 
What are you giving us ? ” 

“What are the circumstances? How disap- 
peared ? When ? Where ? ” put in Tinling, erect- 
ing himself, and shaking back his long gray hair. 

“Why, I supposed the report would have got 
here the first thing. It’s the most inexplicable 
thing I ever came across. Let me see — ^to begin at 
the beginning, I’d breakfasted with him in the fore- 
noon yesterday at his rooms. He was quite jolly 
— ^rather more so than usual, I thought. I took it 
for natural high spirits — going to be married soon, 
and all that sort of thing, you know. But I’ve 
thought since it may have been excitement 
from some other cause, you know. He talked a bit 


GREAYES’ DISAPPEARANCE. 


33 


about bis private affairs, — ^we’re pretty intimate, 
you know, — but nothing was said in particular 
that I remember. We talked of the Ingledew^s 
ball, and that escapade of Mrs-Revelhs, youknow, 
and that Mile. Saki, the Persian dancer, — whom 
he didn’t seem to think much of, by the by, — and 
of the gold-find in Alaska; he said he thought 
that looked promising, and that he might like to 
take some stock in that ; and then — ’’ 

‘‘For pity’s sake, do tell us the story first, and 
we can join you in your comments afterward,” 
someone exclaimed. “Get to the point, can’t 
you?” 

“I was onlytr3ringto recall anything that might 
possibly throw some light on the thing, you 
know,” rejoined Fred, unhurriedly. “I can’t make 
out any motive for it myself. Everything was all 
right about him — property, health, love affair — 
well, ever3rthing. And it’s inconceivable to me 
that he could have planned anything beforehand — 
to make away with himself, or anything of that 
sort; but then it’s even more inconceivable he 
should have vanished involuntarily, don’t you 
know. I can’t make it out,” and here Fred 
accepted the absinthe cocktail that Thomas silently 
8 


34 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


extended to him, and emptied it with deliberate 
circumspection. 

Allardice elevated one eyebrow, and hunted in 
his pocket for a cigar. ^^Take your time, my dear 
boy,’’ said he. We’ve got the afternoon before 
us, and we’re none of us curious. Won’t you take 
another absinthe before you continue? ” 

Guise leaned back in his chair, seemed to consult 
his memory, and finally went on : 

Well, after breakfast, you know, we lay about 
for a while, looking over his books and pictures, 
and talking philosophy and art. Toward three or 
four o’clock — just about this time, you know, — we 
agreed to go out for a little stroll. It looked as if 
it might rain, and Greaves put on a light gray 
Mackintosh overcoat, that he’d just had over from 
London, — rather a peculiar looking thing it was, 
by the by, — and a soft felt hat, and out we went. 
We turned into Broadway, and walked on the west 
side up past the hotels toward Thirty-Fourth 
street. There were comparatively few people out. 
I remember we passed a long file of those sand- 
wich men, you know, with Persian turbans on, 
and boards with Saki’s portrait on them. She’s 
at the Fifth Avenue, you know. Just as we reached 
the corner of Twenty-Eighth street, we came 


GREAVES* DISAPPEARANCE. 


35 


across a bit of an excitement. T^ere was a man 
running down the middle of the street, with his hat 
in his hand, and making 
good time; and about a 
dozen yards behind him 
were a couple of bobbies. 

Greaves and I stopped 
on the corner, to see what 
would happen. Greaves 
said he was a fool to run 
in that direction, because 
he could never get across 
Broadway. The bobbies 
thought so, too, I fancy, 
and it threw them off 
their guard. Almost at 
the entrance of the street 
the chap turned like a flash, and dashed straight 
at them. Before they knew where they were he 
had tripped them both and sent them sprawling, 
and was flying up the street. Half way along the 
block there^s an empty house, going to be torn 
down. The basement door was open and he went 
through it, and that was the last ever seen of him, 
I fancy. I turned round to Greaves, who had 
spoken to me, you know, just the instant before. 



36 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


and saw Him across the other side of Broadway, 
walking on toward Thirtieth. There he was, you 
know, in his gray mackintosh and soft felt hat. I 
hurried to catch up with him, and took his arm. I 
said, ‘He was no fool, after all, that chap. I fancy 
he must have played on a football team.^ 

“That^s what I said, and then Greaves pulled 
away his arm and turned round on me, and you may 
imagine I was surprised when I found it wasnft 
Greaves at all, nor anyone a bit like him. It was 
a fellow of fifty, with a stubble of gray beard a 
week old, a red potato nose, and one eye gone. ‘ I 
beg your pardon, young fellow,^ he said to me, ‘I 
guess you’ve made a mistake.’ 

“Well, you know, at first I didn’t think so much 
of it; I’d been misled by the similarity of dress, 
that was all. Greaves must be somewhere, of 
course, and close at hand, too; it was hardly 
thirty seconds since he’d spoken to me, and there 
were only three directions in which he could have 
gone — up Broadway, or down or up the side street 
toward Fifth avenue. If he had gone down the 
street toward Sixth avenue I should have seen him, 
for .that was the direction I’d been looking. But the 
Broadway sidewalks in both directions were nearly 
empty, the crowd having run down Twenty- 


GRE ayes’ disappearance. 


37 


Eiglitli after the fellow and the bobbies. There 
was nobody going toward Fifth avenue either, and 
he could nT have got away more than a dozen 
rods, anyhow. I should have recognized him at 
any distance in that gray Mackintosh. It was 
true, he might have gone into some shop, so I 
looked into all of them up and down the blocks, 
but it was no use. Unless he’d dropped through a 
manhole in the pavement, there was nowhere he 
could have gone ; but he was gone just the same. 
There never was a disappearance on the stage 
managed quicker or neater, or half so inexplicable. 
I began to feel mighty queer about it — something 
as if I’d seen a ghost. Here w^as an effect without 
a cause. I assure you it was as unpleasant a 
shock as ever I had in my life.” 

We all stared at one another. At last Gawtrey 
said : 

‘‘See here, Fred, make a clean breast of it; how 
many bottles of the Grand Yin Sec did you polish 
off at the breakfast ? ” 

“I’m entirely serious, gentlemen,” returned Fred, 
gravely ; “ and recollect, even if Greaves could have 
eluded me in any ordinary way, he would still have 
been heard from somewhere by this time. But he’s 
given no sign. Whether he went voluntarily or 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


3S 

not, lie’s Yanished, and I’m afraid when news does 
come it will not be the sort of news we shall like to 
hear.” 

Gawtrey now poured his pony of brandy into a 
tumbler, added a dash of water, swallowed the 
mixture, looked in the bottom of the glass for 
inspiration, and said, do n’t believe, for my part, 
that Greaves has been kidnapped in broad day- 
light in the center of New York; and on the other 
hand, I do n’t believe in miracles — ^this year, any- 
way. What he did, depend upon it, was just to 
step quietly out of sight somewhere, when you 
weren’t looking. Probably he saw Miss Baddely 
on a horse car, and boarded it to join her.” 

‘‘There’s something in that idea,” said 
Allardice. 

Guise shook his head. “There wasn’t, as it 
happens, a single car passing, for there was a 
block across both tracks at Twenty-Fifth street. 
And as for Miss Baddely, I afterward ascertained 
that she was at home at the time. No, gentlemen ; 
ordinary explanations won’t work. Last evening, 
I went down and had a talk with Inspector 
Byrnes, and he has put two of his best men on the 
case. But they had found out nothing when I 
looked in at Headquarters just now. 


greaves’ disappearance. 


39 


^‘You called on Miss Baddely, did you? How 
does she take it ? ” inquired Tinling. 

I saw her father; she was not to be seen. Of 
course they are all upset. I told him all I Ve told 
you. He said one thing — ^the old man did — that 
struck me as a bit odd; he said that both his 
daughter and Greaves were persons of arbitrary 
will and extraordinary whims. They were capa- 
ble of almost anything. If one of them did a crazy 
thing, the other would be apt to do something to 
cap it. He said he had no control over either of 
’em, and never had had. But he said this last 
business did surprise him. I thought that was 
queer language to use on such an occasion. It 
might mean that he suspected something.” 

‘‘A quarrel, for instance, and desperation on 
Greaves’ part.” 

A wager of some kind, maybe.” 
never did think much of that fellow Baddely. 
He’s a poor sort of an old dude. Where does he 
get his pocket money from ? He never made a cent 
in his life. Shouldn’t wonder if his daughter sup- 
ported him somehow. Takes in sewing on the 
quiet, or paints fans, or gives music lessons. Rum 
things go on in some of these old families.” It was 
Gawtrey who made these observations. 


40 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


‘‘Upon the whole,” said another of the party, 
“it looks to me as if Greaves’ kidnapper must 
have been Greaves himself. But how he arranged 
it — ^the circumstances being what they were — I 
can’t figure out. My impression is, Guise should 
have followed up that fellow in the gray Mackin- 
tosh.” 

“I agree with the last honorable member,” said 
Tinling. “Such a coincidence as that similarity of 
costume is too remarkable not to be suspicious. 
Looks like a plot of some sort. But there’s noth- 
ing to throw any light on his motive.” 

“Let’s have another drink,” said Gawtrey. 
“What are we going to do this evening.” 

“I am going to the Fifth Avenue to see Saki,” 
said Allardice. “Your talk about her has aroused 
my curiosity. I saw some oriental dancers at the 
Paris Exhibition a while ago, and I’d like to see 
how she compares with them.” 

The evening papers had just been brought in, 
and I had picked up one of them. A paragraph 
headed “Illness of the Persian Dancer” caught my 
eye. 

“She won’t appear this evening,” said I. “It 
says: ‘MUe. Saki was so unfortunate as to sprain 
her ankle yesterday while alighting from her 


GREA.YES’ DISAPPEARANCE. 


41 


carriage. While the injury is not regarded as 
serious, it will prevent her from dancing this even- 
ing. Tickets purchased in advance will be accepted 
for later dates. 

‘‘Nothing in the paper about Greaves asked 
Tinling. 

“Seems not.’’ 

Soon after we broke up, and drifted away in 
various directions, somewhat preoccupied with 
speculations about Greaves. 

The next morning, however, the papers were full 
of the story, and though no light was thrown 
upon the manner of Greaves’ disappearance, 
certain facts of interest were mentioned. On the 
very day before his disappearance, it appears, he 
had executed a deed conveying the bulk of his large 
property to Sophie Baddely. This deed was not a 
will, but a deed of gift simply. Its pro visions went 
into effect immediately, and, in view of what had 
occurred, one could not help suspecting that 
Greaves had prepared it as part of a predeter- 
mined scheme of action, whether of suicide or 
something else. And here there was a coincidence 
that drew my attention. The “indisposition” of 
Mile. Saki corresponded very nearly with the dis- 
appearance of Greaves. She had not returned to 


42 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


the theater since the evening of that occurrence, 
and it was now stated that her absence might be 
prolonged for a week. I knew from Guise, the 
most intimate friend that Greaves had, that the 
latter had been several times to see Saki dance, 
and that he had betrayed rather marked interest 
in her performance. Mr. Baddely had said that 
his intending son-in-law was capable of strange 
escapades ; was it possible, then, that he and the 
too-fascinating Persian had eloped together, — ^he 
having first salved his conscience by bestowing his 
wealth upon the woman he was abandoning? 
Moreover, Tinling having made inquiries at the 
theater, brought news that there was now no 
prospect of Saki^s returning at all; on the con- 
trary, her agent had paid a heayy forfeit, and she 
had departed none knew whither. The sprained 
ankle was obviously a fiction. Of course, the 
manner in which Greaves had effected his exit was 
no less than ever a mystery. A conceivable motive 
had been suggested, that was all. 

* * * 

The establishment known as Six Cent Sam^s 
extends clear through the narrow block in which 
it stands, and has an entrance in the street on the 


greaves' disappearance. 


43 


other side, a fact not generally known. For the 
rear face of the eating house is a pawnship, kept, 
as the sign board indicates, by one Samuel Jona- 
than, who is, in fact, no other than Six Cent Sam 
himself; and to the initiated there is a passagewa) 
leading out of the pawnshop into the eating house 
I am of the initiated ; and as I was passing down 
this passage on the day after the scene at the club, 
I met Sam, — or Mr. Jonathan, — and he said : 

‘‘ Turn back, sir ; IVe something to say to you.” 

I followed him into the office of the pawn- 
shop, where we sat down. 

‘^One way or another,” began Sam, ‘‘I hear a 
good deal of whaFs going on. Pawnshops and 
eating houses bring news. Now, there^s young 
Greaves, for instance.” 

I became interested at once. Sam is always 
interesting. 

When last seen,” continued the latter, ‘‘had on 
gray mackintosh and soft hat. Could you iden- 
tify them? Look at these,” and from a shelf he 
drew out just such an English-made garment as 
Guise had described to us, with the hat to match. 

“He^s been here, then? ” I asked. 

Sam shook his head, and went on in his terse, 
deep-toned way. “A fellow came here yesterday 


44 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


with a carbuncle on his nose, and a game eye. 
Had these duds under his arm; wanted to sell 
’em. How did he come by ’em ? Gent had given 
’em to him. How and why? Oh, quite a yarn. 
Gent met him on street doing sandwich act for 
Fifth Avenue Theatre. Pursuant to bargain then 
and there made, and instructions given, met him 
again next day, same place. Another gent along. 
Disturbance on street ; other man’s attention dis- 
tracted; garments exchanged inside ten seconds. 
Gent, in sandwiches, marches down street after 
other sandwiches ; no one ever thinks of looking 
at face of sandwich, only the announcement on 
board. Thus gent became invisible, and has so 
remained.” 

So this was the simple but ingenious solution of 
the puzzle. 

“And where is Greaves now, and what did he do 
it for?” I asked. 

Sam looked me straight in the face with his pow- 
erful eyes. 

“Where’s Saki? ” he replied. 

“So they’re together after all?” said I, rather 
vain of my insight. 

“Guess not; but they ought to be.” 

\ 


GREAYES* DISAPPEARANCE. 


45 


That was a queer thing to say, and I stared at 
Sam without answering. 

‘‘Newspapers say he gave a pot of money to 
Miss Baddely,’’ resumed the latter. “ Proud, inde- 
pendent girl, father poor. She will be beholden to 
nobody, not even Greaves. Wanted to support 
herself. Greaves objects ; quarrel. Now, if Greaves 
were to make away with himself, after deeding 
property to her, she would naturally give up her 
scheme of earning her own living. Do you see 
how the cat is going to jump ? ” 

“You think Greaves has committed suicide? ” 
Sam gave me a reproachful glance. “Was nft I 
asking to bring him and Saki together ? Do you 
know either of the ladies ? 

‘ ‘ Either of them ? ” 

“Well, do you know Saki?” said Sam, a trifle 
impatiently. 

“No, Idonft.” 

“Nor Miss Baddely ? ” 

“I haven't that pleasure.” 

“Pll introduce you to both of them. We'll go 
now. Great friends ; always together,'’ 

“Who ? Miss Baddely and Saki ? ” 

“The same.” 

“What are we to do there ? ” 


46 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


want ^em to settle which of ’em’s to marry 
Greaves.’’ 

‘‘Is Greaves in love with both of them ? 

“That’s his fix, precisely.” 

“And they with him ? ” 

“That’s what I’m figuring on.” 

“And you expect them to agree which of 
them — ” 

“We have to hurry,” remarked Sam, rising. 
“Let me get into a clean shirt, and we’re off.” He 
stepped into a side room as he spoke, and shut the 
door. 

I did not know what to make of it, but I knew 
enough of Sam to know that he, who knew every- 
thing and everybody, from a pawn-shop habitue 
to a wealthy club man, was not acting in the 
dark. In a few minutes he reappeared, in the garb 
of a well-to-do man-about-town. Silk hat, prince 
albert coat, striped trousers, white scarf, yellow 
gloves, and silver-headed umbrella. Not a finer 
gentleman in the city. 

“We’ll look up Mlle.Saki first,” he said, as we 
sallied forth together. “Do you speak Persian 
fluently? Never mind, she vSpeaks as good English 
as you or I do, and is a very intelligent woman.” 

To us, awaiting her in a tasteful but simple sit- 


greaye’s disappearance. 


47 


ting room np-town, entered the famous Persian 
dancer. She was a handsome brunette, with 
superb black eyes and hair. Her figure and bear- 
ing were all grace and elegance. She was plainly 
dressed, and looked, as Sam had said, very intelli- 
gent. 

^‘Now, Mademoiselle,” said Sam, after the greet- 
ings were over, have called as your manager, to 
learn what you want to do. You may speak freely 
before this gentleman.” 

“Tell me first what has become of him?” she 
replied, in a slightly tremulous voice. “I can never 
forgive myself. Is he — ” 

“He is a pig-headed donkey, if you must have 




' rned Sam. “And he’s 
onster deserves to be. 



Ij shall we temporize with 


shall we keep on our 
course and let him go 
to — ” Sam’s finger 
at this juncture was 
pointing down- 
ward. 


“Temporize with 
him ? I’ll go down 


on my knees to him if he will but give me the 


48 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


cliance. He was right from the beginning, and I 
was wrong. I saw that almost from the first — ^long 
before this terrible thing happened. But for my 
miserable obstinacy, I^d have given it up then. I had 
no conception what the life was till I had tried it. 
It was an awful lesson. I shall never forget it. I 
feel as if I had actually done all the bad things 
every one seemed to suspect me of. And yet, when 
I was looking forward to it, it all appeared good 
and right. I thought I would elevate and ennoble 
my art. But the world is hard.” 

‘‘Well, it is unless we take it the right way,” 
said Sam. “The best way to find out is to make 
experiments. I helped you to do that, and youfre 
the better for it, because you now know what you 
would never have believed if it had been told you. 
Some girls go through life believing all they are 
told, good or bad, but youfre not that sort. You 
can do other things just as clever as dancing, and 
not so open to remarks. For one thing, you can 
make a man happy, and bring up his children.” 

Mile. Saki blushed, and tears stood in her eyes. 

“It^s too late to think of that now,” she said. 
“He must dispise me and hate me; he could nT 
help it.” 


greaves’ disappearance. 


49 


“Pooli! besides, there are other men in the 
world as good as he, and a great deal better.’^ 

‘‘You know that is not so,’^ exclaimed Mile. 
Saki, with a naive indignation that was enchant- 
ing. “I should like to see him again, though, just 
once,’’ she added, “to tell him how sorry and 
ashamed I am, and to ask his forgiveness.” 

“I guess it would be more politic for you to for- 
give him,” said Sam, with a smile. “However, 
we’ll see what can be done,” and thereupon we 
took our leave. 

* * * 

It was a mysterious affair altogether, and has 
never been cleared up to this day. As everybody 
knows, Greaves is married, but he married Miss 
Sophie Baddely. Mile. Saki was never again heard 
of. It is the impression among the general public 
that she returned to Paris. Be that as it may, 
I saw Mrs. Greaves driving out in the park the 
other day with her husband, and remarked that 
the lady bore a striking resemblance to the Persian 
dancer. Guise and Tinling, however, have never 
spoken of any likeness. No doubt, she must have 
looked very different in her Persian costume from 
what she did in the plain American dress that she 
wore when I saw her. 








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RAXWORTHY^S TREASURE. 

a IS story, as I now have 
reason to believe, began with 
an unconsidered interview 
between my friend Six Cent Sam 
and a meager elderly lady in a 
black gown. The interview 
took place in a compartment 
of the pawnshop annex. I was 
passing through the passage 
on my way to the eating room, 
and supposed that the elderly female of whom I 
caught a glimpse was negotiating an ordinary 
loan. In the light of some things that have 
occurred since, I am now inclined to think other- 
wise. In the eating room, I found Raxworthy 
lunching on bean soup and bread ; and I sat down 
at the same table with him. To those who know 
Raxworthy, I need not say that I did not expect 
him to put my account on his check. For the 
information of other persons I will give some 

account of who Raxworthy was. 

61 



52 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


He was (and is) the son of an English artist, the 
descendant of a family of English gentlemen. The 
first emigrant to America was this Raxworthj’s 
father. He eame hither in his early manhood, and 
made money out of real estate which he had inad- 
vertently bought. He died rich, and his son got 
all the property. There is in England, not far 
from London, a venerable town called Isleworth, 
and in the pages of its history those who will may 
read the history of old Jasper Rax worthy, ^^The 
Miser of Isleworth.’^ Our man is not only the 
great-grandson of Jasper, but he inherits his idio- 
syncrasy. He is a miser, and quite as picturesque 
and irrational as him of tradition. He thus 
affords unfailing entertainment to his friends. 

He is about thirty years old, thin, pale, tall, and 
with no hair to speak of. His hands are long, 
bloodless, and knotty at the finger-joints. In dis- 
position he is exceedingly amiable, laughing read- 
ily in a thin, high cackle, while hundreds of fine 
wrinkles spring up around his eyes and mouth. 
His conversation is as amiable and also as thin 
as his laugh, and is largely devoted to accounts 
of things he has done which he thinks devilish 
clever, but which, to impartial minds, have more or 
less of the ludicrous. 


RAX worthy's treasure. 


53 


For example : tie was once engaged to marry a 
young woman, for no better reason, as I believe, 
than that he thought her an economical house- 
keeper. She was poor, and he bought her a gown 
to be married in — not a regular wedding dress, 
but a useful costume, that would be available for 
general purposes for years to come. At or about 
this juncture, the lady wrote to break off the 
engagement. Raxworthy accepted the mitten 
philosophically, but demanded of his lost love that 
she return the gown. She did return it, and he 
has kept it ever since, not as a memento of a 
buried romance, but as a convenient thing to have 
on hand in case he should want to make another 
attempt to enter the hymeneal state. Dollars to 
cents that if he ever does marry, his wife will be 
selected primarily on the basis of her fitness for 
the gown. 

Raxworthy also inherits artistic tastes, and is a 
diligent collector of works of art and virtu of all 
kinds. The price he paid for each is affixed to it, 
and he discourses on the profit at which he could 
sell it again. But the most remarkable of his 
hoards is that which consists wholly of gold and 
jewels ; gold coins of all ages, gold nuggets, gold 
ornaments of historic as well as intrinsic value, 


64 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


pieces of gold plate — in short, gold in every shape. 
Then there are precious stones, in settings, sepa- 
rate, and in the rough, including many antiques, 
the whole making a pile big enough to fill a steel- 
bound strong box, two feet wide by eighteen inches 
long and one foot deep. This treasure must be 
worth a great many thousand dollars, and the 
anomaly is that it lies there in the strong-box, col- 
lecting no interest. Raxworthy, when attacked 
on this point, offers various excuses, but the fact 
is, he is a victim to the true miser^s mania for 
gloating over treasure. It is heaven to him to sit 
over the box, and plunge both his hands into 
jingling piles of Spanish doubloons, Roman coins of 
the Empire, American double eagles, odds and ends 
of precious metals, diamonds, rubies and all the 
rest of it, and to feel those concrete symbols of 
wealth in his actual grasp. Usury has its charms ; 
to dip fingers in the glittering heaps of solid lucre 
is a distinct and solid peculiar ecstacy, which your 
genuine, thoroughbred miser cannot deny himself 
Auromania is as real a disease as dipsomania, and 
as inaccessible to reason. Moreover, Raxworthy’s 
strong-box is a constant menace to his safety and 
peace of mind, for he insists on keeping it in his 
own house instead of in a safety vault. He must 


raxworthy’s treasure. 


56 


have it ever ready at hand, as the toper his bottle. 
Nay, he must occasionally speak of it to other 
people, and even display it to them ; and the fame 
of it has traveled further than he perhaps suspects. 

Not long ago, for instance, he received a letter 
written on paper bearing the imprint of the corre- 
spondence department of the famous Green Vaults 
of Dresden, and signed by a gentleman as curator. 
In this communication, permission was asked to 
examine his treasure, with a view to the possible 
purchase of it. Rax worthy was very vain of this 
evidence of distinction, as he considered it, and 
when, in due course of time, the eminent curator 
and his private secretary arrived in New York, our 
friend spent several hours in showing them his col- 
lection. The curator, who, it appears, was a Ger- 
man of a morbid and ultra-cautious cast of mind, 
as befitted a gentleman entrusted with the custo- 
dianship of the Green Vaults, pointed out to Rax- 
worthy the folly of permitting his treasure to 
remain exposed to the perils of theft and fire ; but 
Raxworthy displayed arrangements in the way of 
locks, bars, spring guns, and electric alarms, and 
proved the fallacy of the timid foreigner's misgiv- 
ings. A discussion then arose as to the cash value 
of the collection, and Raxworthy named a price 


56 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


more than twice as high as he really believed the 
things to be worth. The curator, on the other 
hand, declared he was not authorized to offer more 
than an amount which appeared to Raxworthy 
ludicrously inadequate. They dickered over the 
matter like a couple of Pennsylvania Dutchmen 
over a horse trade, and after several days, they 
seemed not much nearer a settlement than at the 
start. I was inclined to think that the entire 
affair was of a somewhat Pickwickian complexion ; 
that is to say, I doubted whether the party of the 
first part had any serious intention to purchase ; 
and I was morally certain that had Raxworthy 
been conceded the whole amount of his first demand 
he would have found some pretext for wriggling 
out of the bargain. At all events the foreigners 
finally retired, with many courteous expressions 
of esteem, promising to confer with their superiors, 
and communicate the latter^s ultimatum to 
Raxworthy. Nobody seriously imagined that 
an3rthing more would ever be heard of the subject ; 
though Raxworthy himself pretended that he 
anticipated receiving an autograph letter from 
the king of Saxony, offering him all the money he 
asked for, and the Cross of the Saxon Order of 
Merit into the bargain. In fact, Raxworthy, like 


raxworthy’s treasure. 


57 


many other people of eccentric and solitary life, 
enjoyed living in a sort of fairyland of liis own 
creation, and foisting upon himself the most fan- 
tastic delusions. And this, by the way, leads me 
to speak of an aspect of his character which some- 
times led him into quaint predicaments. 

Raxworthy was a confirmed Spiritualist. He 
did not say much about it, but those who knew 
him, knew that such was the fact. He consulted 
mediums and astrologers on business questions, 
and, what is more singular, he not seldom took 
their advice. Whether, or not the advice always 
turned out well, I do n^t know, but he never said 
an3rthing to the contrary. There is no accounting 
for such vagaries. They are constantly observed 
in men otherwise shrewd and hard-headed. It 
may be the result of an instinctive reaction against 
the despotism of the concrete and rational. I will 
now relate an instance of Raxworthy’s spiritual- 
istic experience, which is not only curious but 
rather romantic as well. 

In the first place I must go back to Six Cent 
Sam’s eating house, where, when this long digres- 
sion began, I was on the point of sitting down 
at Raxworthy’s table. We greeted each other 
cordially, and I ordered, as usual, a chop and a 


58 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


pint of Beaune. Raxworthy, when he pays his 
own score, is frugal in his 
meals; but is not averse to 
conviviality at the expense of 
others. So I offered him a 
share of my bottle; and when, I 
in a few minutes, Sam came 
along and yielded to my invi- 
tation to sit down with us, 

I ordered another pint. Under the genial influence 
of these proceedings, Raxworthy presently waxed 
loquacious. 

You recollect,^’ he said, ‘‘those German fellows 
who came to treat with me about my collection ? 
Well, I knew I hadn^t heard the last of them, and 
the other day I got a letter asking me to meet 
them in Philadelphia; they wanted to amend 
their offer. I locked up my house and went. 
When I got there, I found there had been some 
misunderstanding ; they had waited for me all the 
day before and then gone off, leaving a letter with 
the clerk of their hotel to say that they had a 
further proposition from Dresden, which they 
would like to submit to me. They made another 
appointment to meet me this week here in New 
York.” 



raxworthy’s treasure. 


59 


You are playing in big luck,” said I. 

^‘What do you know about these folks?” 
inquired Sam. Are they straight ? Can they do 
what they say they can ? ” 

You should have seen their letters of introduc- 
tion ; and I happen to know they have credit for a 
million.” 

Humph! I don^t know. Have you consulted 
our friends on the other side? ” 

Raxworthy gave him a quick glance. ‘^You 
mean — ” 

Spirits, of course. What else?” rejoined Sam, 
sipping his wine. 

Raxworthy looked gratified. ‘‘ Youfre a sensible 
fellow,” he said. You recognize that the affairs 
of this world are guided by supersensuous powers. 
I like to talk to a man who can rise above vulgar 
prejudice.” 

^Hf you mean a reflection on me,” I hastened to 
say, am anxious not to be vulgar, when I get a 
chance.” 

He laughed good-naturedly. ‘^Oh, there’s no 
telling what you believe. However, I could tell 
you fellows something;” — he lowered his voice and 
bent forward — ^‘there’s a medium I know — her 
name is Mrs. Selkirk; she has sent me word that 


60 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


there’s a message awaiting me which will have a 
permanent influence on my fortune. I am to meet 
her this evening.” 

like to go with yon,” said Sam, much to my 
surprise. 

^‘You would? Well, I don’t know but it might 
be managed. It’ll be in the nature of a test, you 
know. And you can come, too,” he added, turn- 
ing to me. ^‘Of course, you know, her fee is two 
dollars each person. It’s a good deal of money, 
but-” 

“Never mind,” said Sam, gravely, “ we’U raise it 
— for that.” 

A shade of anxiety departed from Raxworthy’s 
face. “All right, then,” he responded, heartily. 
“At eight o’clock. It may be about those German 
fellows. I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

It was not about them, however. I confess that 
the performance impressed me. Sam was silent 
and attentive, seeming to be familiar with such 
things. I wondered if there were anything which 
that man had not experienced. As for Mrs. Selkirk, 
she was a quiet, slender woman of middle age, 
with one of those average faces that one imagines 
one has seen before. She was a thoroughly 
respectable person. She wore black silk, with 


raxworthy’s treasure. 


61 


white rucliing, and white lace around her hair. It 
was a private seance — no one present but our- 
selves. After a few polite preliminaries, we went 
into executive session. The room was darkened, 
until, by my utmost stretch of vision, I cotdd just 
see what I believed to be Mrs. Selkirk's white lace 
and ruching. Gradually a luminous appearance 
bloomed out, so to say, in the air above and 
behind her head. 

‘^They are taking me to a house,” murmured the 
medium. ‘‘It is a house in Vernon street,” she 
presently added; and I declare, that, as she said 
these words, I saw, or fully believed I saw, the 
phantom of a house appear in the midst of the 
luminous place. It was a small, old brick house, 
the blinds closed and defaced, the wooden steps 
leading up to the door in a ruinous state, and an 
air of not having been inhabited for a long time 
hanging over the whole place. 

“Who is in control ?” asked Raxworthy, in a 
reverent voice. 

There was no reply to this question. The appa- 
rition of the house slowly ceased to be visible, but 
something else seemed to be coming into existence 
in another part of the room. It was very faint at 
first, but after wavering back and forth for a 


62 


six CENT SAM^S. 


while, now in this world and now in the other, it 
became more distinct; it was the figure of some- 
body — of a man. His face was in a sort of 
shadow, or perhaps it was not so fully material- 
ized as the other parts. He inclined his body 
stifily, and said in a quavering voice : 

‘‘Evening folks; I^m Gaffer Peters.” 

I began to feel uneasy at this miracle, and turned 
for support to Sam, who, however, was invisible 
in the darkness. 

“Glad to see you. Gaffer,” said Raxworthy, 
encouragingly, for the poor old gentleman seemed 
on the point of fading out again. “Have you any 
message for any of us ? ” 

“Look under the hearthstone,” was the barely 
audible reply. “The hearthstone in the back sit- 
ting room. It worries me — it worries me. I 
buried it there — ” The voice died away. 

“You buried it — yes. Gaffer. What was it that 
you buried?” said Raxworthy, in a tone of 
repressed eagerness. 

“Gold and jewels — gold and jewels — a treasure — 
vast treasure,” came the halting reply. “I canT 
rest — gold and jewels — buried — hearthstone — ” 
The voice seemed constantly on the verge of disap- 
pearing into silence entirely. 


RAXWORTHY^S TREASURE. 


63 


what place are they buried?’^ inquired 
Rax worthy, pronouncing the words with anxious 
distinctness, as if to make up for the vocal deficien- 
cies of the venerable spectre. 

There was a considerable pause, and to our con- 
sternation, the figure of our interlocUter grew 
dimmer and finally was altogether absorbed into 
the darkness. But out of that darkness the answer 
sounded, and it was more clearly audible than any 
of the previous utterances, as if the Gaifer^s lungs 
had gained all the materializing power that the 
rest of the spirit had lost. 

‘‘No. 97 Vernon street. I give it all to you. Go 
quickly. It may be too late.” 

The medium stirred restlessly. 

“I guess that^s all well get this evening,” 
remarked Sam, at last, and he stepped to the gas 
jet and turned on the light. 

Mrs. Selkirk passed her hands over her eyes, and 
smiled politely upon us. 

“Was the seance successful ? Were you satisfied, 
gentlemen? ” she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“Quite so, madam,” replied Sam in his deep 
voice. ‘ ‘ It looks as if our friend Raxworthy would 
be indebted to you in a much greater sum than 
two dollars.” 


64 ? 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


I can’t admit that,” exclaimed Raxworthy 
hastily. ‘‘We may have been deceived, you know ; 
besides — ” 

“ If gentlemen meet with good fortune inconse- 
quence of my seances, they are not expected to pay 
anything extra,” said Mrs. Selkirk, quietly; “and 
on the other hand, I am not to be held responsible 
in case of any disappointment. Those are the 
rules.” So saying she arose, as if to intimate that 
the seance was at a close. We made our adieux, 
and departed. 

“Honestly, now, what do you think of that?” 
demanded Raxworthy, triumphantly, as he faced 
us on the sidewalk. 

“Honestly, I Avant a drop of whisky,” said I. 

Sam tipped his hat on the back of his head, and 
thrust his hands in his pockets. 

“As a practical man, I say we put this thing to 
the test at once,” said he. “Vernon street’s near 
here; let’s go and find out whatNo. 97 looks like.” 

We went. Vernon street turned out to be a 
small and obscure place, westward from Jefierson 
Market. It was dirty and ill-lighted, and given up 
to a vile class of the population. But I had a 
“turn” when I beheld, nearly at the extremity of 
it, the very identical building of which we had seen 


RAXWORTHY^S TREASURE. 


65 


the apparition at the seance. There it was, a 
rickety two-story brick building, with blinds rot- 
ting off their hinges, and a flight of tumbledown 
wooden steps leading to the front door. 

We all three stared up at it in awed silence. 

^^Well, Mr. Raxworthy,’^ said Sam, at last, 
‘Hhat seems to be your house, all right enough. 
What do you intend to do next ? ” 

Why, let^s get in, and And out whether the 
back sitting room — 

‘ ‘ I do n^t approve of house-breaking, ’ ^ interrupted 
Sam, decisively. ‘^Besides, even if we found the 
treasure, it would belong to the landlord and not 
to us. That^s law, I believe.” 

^^What do you advise, then?” Raxworthy 
asked. 

‘‘Become the landlord yourself.” 

“You don^t mean buy the house?” cried Rax- 
worthy, recoiling. 

Sam nodded grimly. “That^s just what I do 
mean, sir,” was his answer. 

“Wouldn’t it do to rent it ? ” asked Raxworthy, 
with a gleam of hope. 

“Renting wouldn’t entitle you to the treasure.” 

“But suppose there shouldn’t be any treasure,” 


66 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


said Raxworthy, wiping the perspiration from his 
forehead. 

‘‘Well, there’s where your test comes in. It’s to 
take or to leave. The spirits were right about the 
house, anyway.” 

“Yes,” assented Raxworthy, in sore distress. 
“But I don’t really know where I am to find the 
money to — ” 

“I’ll make you this proposition,” said Sam, 
emphatically, as he bit the end off a cigar ; “ I’ll go 
shares with you on the house or I’ll buy it all 
myself — treasure included ; is that fair ? ” 

“Oh, as to that, I suppose — I’m obliged to you, 
of course. Still, I might manage somehow to 
raise the money, if — Do you suppose I could get 
it for a hundred dollars?” faltered the wretched 
Raxworthy. 

“Get that house for a hundred dollars?” 
repeated Sam, with boundless scorn. “You’d be 
luckier than I expect you will if it goes to you for 
a hundred times a hundred.” 

“ Ten thousand dollars ? Oh, that’s impossible,” 
cried the tortured victim. 

“And there might be nothing in it after all,” 
assented Sam. “All right; then I take the whole 
outfit. I happen to have ten thousand that I’d 


RAXWORTHY’s TREAStJRE. 


67 


about as lief put in there as anywhere. Well, if 
you he not going my way, 111 bid you good-night, 
gentlemen.” 

‘‘Hold up a minute,” groaned Raxworthy. “I 
could get it on two-thirds mortgage, could nh I? ” 

“You might, or you might not; probably not,” 
said Sam, coldly. 

“Well, 111 inquire; 111 think it over, and decide 
in a few days,” Raxworthy rejoined. 

“I^m decided now,” said Sam. “1 shall buy 
that house, mortgage or no mortgage, the first 
thing to-morrow morning. If the treasure turns 
out to be there, well and good. If not, why, real 
estate is going up in this neighborhood, and I 
guess I can get my money back, anyway.” 

“I never thought of that,” cried Raxworthy, 

eagerly. “Of course 
I could sell it again ; 
in fact, I would do 
that, in any case, 
after the question 
of the treasure had 
been decided. Or, 
better yet, I can 
rent it in the first 
instance, and then, if the treasure turns out to be 



68 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


there, I can buy the place outright, and so legalize 
my possession of the treasure. Oh, that^s the 
grandest scheme of all.” 

A momentary smile flitted over the iron visage of 
Sam. 

‘‘Well, IVe told you my ultimatum,” said he. 
“If the house isn^t yours to-morrow, it will be 
mine. And now, gentlemen, this is no place for 
respectable citizens to be at midnight. If you’d 
like to come and have a quiet chat over a bottle of 
my Burgundy, come on; it won’t cost you any- 
thing. We’re close by.” 

To make a long story short, Raxworthy became 
the owner of No. 97 Vernon street, on compara- 
tively easy terms. On that momentous afternoon, 
Sam and I accompanied him to the premises. 
With as much precaution and mystery as if we 
were going to inter a murdered corpse instead of 
unearth a possible bag of treasure, we took with 
us, carefully wrapped up in canvas, a spade and a 
pick. We effected an entrance into the house with- 
out attracting undue attention from passers-by, 
and found, it to be very dark and very dirty 
within. Sam, however, had had the forethought 
to bring in his pocket a bit of candle, having 


raxworthy’s treasure. 


69 


lighted which, we proceeded to the fateful back sit- 
ting room. 

At this stage of the adventure, Raxworthy^s agi- 
tation became painfully manifest. I was not a 
little excited myself. Sam was circumspect but 
composed. As he stooped over the hearthstone, I 
fancied I discerned symptoms of the butt of a 
revolver in the hip pocket of his trousers. So far, 
ever3rfching — house, street, number, room, and 
hearthstone, had fulfilled the ghost’s word, which 
we were almost ready to take, as did Hamlet, for 
a thousand pounds. We gathered about the 
heaTthstone, and glowered down upon it. Would 
the ray of our flickering taper, as we turned back 
the heavy slab from its resting-place, sparkle upon 
a vast heap of splendid jewels and gold ? If so, 
what was one to think about Spiritualism ? No 
test could be more convincing. 

‘‘Take the pick, and go at it,” said Sam, in vig- 
orous, practical tones. “Let’s have the agony 
over, one way or the other.” 

Raxworthy, thus appealed to, laid hands upon 
the tool in question, but was unable to make any 
play with it. He was in such a nervous tremor 
that his muscles (if he had any) were not under 
his control. 


70 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


‘‘Pshaw! Give me the daggers/’ cried Sam. 
“Stand by to help with the spade when I get the 
slab started. In she goes — now, then, up she comes. 
Lay it on one side, there. Well, what have we 
got?’’ 

What, indeed? We all went down on our hands 
and knees, and peered into the cavity revealed 
by the uplifted stone. No flash of radiant jewels 
greeted our eyes. The hole seemed to contain 
nothing but dirt and rubbish. Raxworthy, with 
a sort of desperation, finally reached in, and clawed 
out some folds of old oilcloth. This seemed to be 
all the booty in sight. He uttered a groan 
that was like a sob. 

“Ten thousand dollars for a scrap of oilcloth ! ” 
He rose from his knees with the feeble movement 
of an aged man, and was about to totter away 
when Sam arrested his departure. 

“Not so fast, young fellow,” said he. “You’re 
no hand at treasure hunting. We’re not at the 
bottom of this thing yet. Here, what do you call 
this?” 

He had laid hold of a knot or tuft of something 
that projected from the bottom of the hole. He 
gave a stout tug at it, but it resisted the effort. 


raxworthy's treasure. 


71 


Bear a hand here, some of yon,” cried he. ‘‘Am 
I the only man among you who has any faith?” 

Hereupon, we all got our hands upon that pro- 
jecting tuft, and heaved amain. Rax worthy, 
especially, putting a fury of strength into his lift. 
And, lo, up came, slowly but surely, a huge, heavy 
bag of coarse sacking, weighing as much as the 
three of us could well handle. As we dropped it on 
the floor beside the hole, there proceeded from it an 
unmistakable chinking sound, as of metal. At 
that sound Raxworthy ’s- face became ghastly pale, 
and he panted as if he had just run a race. Sam 
ripped open the mouth of the bag, then seized it by 
the bottom and, with a great jerk, emptied the 
whole contents out on the floor. 

It was true, after all. The apparition had not 
lied. Spiritualism was vindicated. Before us lay 
a vast pile of gold and precious stones, to the value 
of Heaven knows how many hundred thousand 
dollars. Raxworthy had become a millionaire in a 
moment. He emitted a wild screech, and threw 
himself face downward into the midst of the 
treasure. 

“Mine — ^mine — all mine!” he gurgled out, as he 
wallowed at our feet, oblivious and careless of us 
and all the world. 


72 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


a queer sight, isn’t it?^’ remarked Sam, 
turning to me with a smile on one side ]• 



him, sir; it’s ^ 

worth looking at ; there’s nothing else just like it 
on the face of this earth.” 

As this was the only moralizing speech I ever 
happened to hear Sam make, I transcribe the 
whole of it. 

It was some time before our friend became 
enough of a human being again to allow of being 
reasoned with. But in the course of half an hour 
or so we got him on his legs and the treasure 
back into the bag. I am free to admit that the 
events of the afternoon had somewhat agitated 
even me, though my share in the treasure was that 
of an observer only ; and I retain no very clear 


RAXWORTHY^S TREASURE. 


73 


recollection of what occtirred immediately after 
this. I seem to remember that we somehow got 
the bag to the door, and that somehow a hack 
happened to be standing there, and that as we got 
into it, I noticed Sam speak to a couple of police- 
men who happened to be on the spot. Then he 
got in, and slammed the door of the vehicle and off 
we trundled. 

In fifteen minutes we were at Raxworthy’s 
rooms, with the bag. He threw off his coat, and 
wiped his forehead. 

^Hll tell you what 111 do, fellows, said he. ‘Hll 
get out my strong box, and well count the 
treasure into it, and if it turns out to be as good 
as it looks. 111 make Mrs. Selkirk a present of five 
dollars.” 

‘‘Steady, my man,” said Sam; “donft be rash.” 

“Well, that^s the way I feel,” he replied. “I^m 
reckless. Ill give her two dollars, anyhow.” 

“Better cool off a bit, before you commit your- 
self,” returned the other. 

“You two must help me with the box,” he went 
on; “it’s as heavy as the bag.” 

We followed him to the fireplace in his bedroom. 
He pushed aside a panel in the wall, disclosing an 
iron door, secured by a couple of steel bars and an 


74 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


immense lock. He took out a key, and applied it 
to the keyhole. It would not turn. 

‘‘Anything wrong? ” Sam inquired. 

Raxworthy made another effort; it was as 
futile as the first. He turned upon us with a 
ghastly look. 

“It’s been tampered with,” he said, in a husky 
whisper. 

“Stuff! Give her another turn,” rejoined Sam. 

Raxworthy made a gesture eloquent of terror 
and despair. 

“Oh, what does it mean? ” he quavered. “My 
soul, what is it ? ” 

Sam stooped down and examined the lock. “It 
looks to me like flat burglary,” he remarked, 
coolly. “And a mighty neat job, too.” 

A paroxysm seized Raxworthy. He sprang up 
and gave the knob of the iron door a violent 
wrench. The door flew open, and Raxworthy sat 
down on the floor hard. 

“Keys unnecessary,” remarked Sam, still with 
the same impassivity. He took hold of the box 
and pulled it out of the cavity in which it stood 
with a single jerk of his powerful arm. It came to 
the floor with a hollow sound that affected 
Raxworthy as might the Crack of Doom a con- 


RAXWORTHY^S TREASURE. 


75 


demned sotil. Neither words or outcries could any 
longer express his feelings. He sat huddled up on 
the floor, staring at the chest, voiceless and almost 
lifeless while convulsive shudderings ever and anon 
passed through his lean body. 

‘‘A clean job,’ ^ repeated Sam, throwing open the 
lid, and glancing within. ‘‘ They did leave you the 
box, though, and, if you’ve lost one treasure, 
you’ve got another to put in the place of it. Just 
pour into the box what is in the bag, and say no 
more about it.” 

“Ruined! All my gold,” moaned Raxworthy, 
with a sob. 

“You make me very weary,” said Sam. He took 
hold of the bag and once more emptied its contents 
on the floor. “Ruined, eh? ” he added; “I wish I 
was ruined to the same tune.” 

My stars, what a gorgeous heap of wealth it 
was. Doubloons, moidores, eagles, nuggets, dia- 
monds, rubies, and all the rest of it. 

“It’s just as good as your own pile over again,” 
said Sam, “neither more nor less.” 

“They’re not worth the tenth of mine,” said 
Raxworthy, tragically. But the rattle and spar- 
kle of the jewels had aroused him in spite of him- 
self. He picked up one of the doubloons, then 


76 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


another; then he examined a nugget. A sudden 
flush sprang into his face; with trembling hands 
he snatched up a diamond ring of peculiar design. 

‘‘What ails the fellow now?^’ muttered Sam, 
while that odd half smile again twitched the corner 
of his mouth. 

Raxworthy, meanwhile, continued to catch up 
one jewel or coin after another, and stare at them 
like one demented. 

“Why, what’s this? and this? and this?” he 
cried, again and again. “They’re mine, I tell you 
— mine — all mine! These are what they robbed 
me of. Am I crazy? My own treasure — how can 
it be?” He broke into frantic convulsions of 
laughter, in the midst of which he kept gathering 
up double handfuls of the precious stuff, and bury- 
ing his face in it; I believe he was actually 
kissing it. 

“What he found, he’s lost, and what he’s lost, 
he’s found,” Sam observed, philosophically. 
“That’s apt to be the way in this world.” 

There was a knock at the door. Sam opened it. 
There stood a policeman. He saluted Sam deferen- 
tially. 

“Well ? ” said the latter. 


raxworthy’s treasure. 


77 


^‘WeVe got the birds/’ said the ofEcer. “They 
turned up not ten minutes after you left.” 

“A close shave, all round,” Sam remarked. 
“ Well be round to identify ’em in an hour. That’s 
all.” 

He closed the door again, and contemplated 
Raxworthy, still caressing his treasure, with 
contemptuous amusement. 

“It’s a pity to disturb him, isn’t it?” he said. 
“ He’s twice as happy as if he’d never been robbed 
at all. But business is business. Come on, Mr. 
Raxworthy. I’ll have to take you to police head- 
quarters for a few minutes, and then you will have 
your evening to devote to your — wife.” 

•3S- # « 

Now, what was the meaning of all this ? It was 
a perplexing case. The two burglars turned out 
to be identical with the distinguished curator ol 
the Green Vaults of Dresden, and his secretary; and 
the police also professed to remember in them two 
well-known and skillful offenders against our pres- 
ent laws regarding property. One of the chief 
witnesses against them was the original proprie- 
tor of the premises at No. 97 Vernon street, who, 
also, strange to relate, was indistinguishable from 


78 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


that excellent medium and lady, Mrs. Selkirk. I 
have suspected, since these events, that Mrs. Sel- 
kirk and Sam were old acquaintances ; and it may 
be worth mentioning that I once saw, in Sam’s 
back office, an antique bell-crowned hat, which 
reminded me strongly of the one worn by that 
amiable and distressed spectre, the late Gaffer 
Peters. 

But is it not singular that the robbers should 
have concealed their booty in the very spot, of all 
others, in which Gaffer Peters had directed Rax- 
worthy to dig for his own hoard ? The ways of 
Providence, not to speak of the artfulness of the 
police, are sometimes past finding out. As a test 
of the trustworthiness of Spiritualism, the adven- 
ture is perhaps less satisfactory than it seemed to 
be at first. But it is at all events certain that 
Sam, later on, took No. 97 off Raxworthy’s hands, 
and has since turned it into a retreat for helpless 
and decayed newsboys. 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 



HREE days before the 
recent election I was 
dining at Judge Horn- 
buckle’s, on West Fifty- 
Third street, and was 
accorded the privilege 
of sitting beside Miss 
Ann Carew. I have 
known this young lady 
a good many years, but 
of late we have met but 
seldom. She has been 
abroad and in society, she is rich and a beauty, 
and the world is large; at all events our paths 
diverged. But there remained on each side a 
cordial sentiment, and whenever we did meet it 
was with pleasure. She was, at the time of which 
I am now writing, just past her twenty-first year, 
and in no respect a common girl. She has a mind 
as well as a body, and both are adorable. 

79 


80 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


The judge, with his manners of a gentleman of 
the old school, had been giving some attention to 
the political situation. Since the close of Grant's 
second term he had not personally entered the 
political arena. He has a clean record, and no 
man in the state is more respected. ^Ht is the 
fashion," he was saying, from the chair which he 
so dignifiedly filled at the head of the table, ^Ho 
assert that politics are becoming totally corrupt. 
I am disposed to challenge that assertion. In view 
of the fact that the persons in charge of our state 
and municipal affairs are frequently of humble ori- 
gin and limited education, that they are placed in 
positions of great responsibility, that they are sub- 
jected to strong temptations, and must often act 
under powerful excitement, — taking these circum- 
stances into consideration I am more inclined to 
admire their general well-doing than to cavil at — 
h'm — their occasional lapses." 

^^How long since you got back?" I asked Ann 
Carew. 

‘^Prom Europe? Only a few days ago. This is 
the first time I've seen anybody since. I almost 
wish I'd stayed till these elections were over. It's 
like being in a house where somebody is ill. Unless 
you're either a doctor or a patient, it's tiresome.'’ 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


81 


^‘Not personally.’’ said the judge, replying to 
someone. “I happen, however, to have some 
information concerning him. He affords a favora- 
ble example of the truth of the contention I was 
just making — that sterling integrity is the strong- 
est recommendation to popular favor in this coun- 
try. Once convince the people that the character 
of a candidate is beyond question, and they will 
support him with enthusiasm. Now, the gentle- 
man you have mentioned has, in a period compar- 
atively brief, accomplished a remarkable and in all 
respects a creditable career. Six months ago he 
was practically unknown, except, of course, as to 
his services during the concluding years of the war, 
when, though a very young man, he distinguished 
himself for bravery and capacity. But since that 
period he has entirely disappeared from public 
view. I believe I am correct in stating that he is 
almost a stranger even in society, though well- 
qualified to become a favorite there. A bachelor, a 
student, a recluse, — such has been his category. 
Last spring not half a dozen persons in this city 
enjoyed the pleasure of his acquaintance; to-day 
he is — and deservedly — perhaps the most conspic- 
uous figure among the candidates before the peo- 
6 


82 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


pie. I venture the prophesy that he will secure the 
election.’^ 

“Who is this demigod?’’ I inquired of my com- 
panion. 

She shook her head and smiled. “I didn’t catch 
his name. I am more interested to know the 
name of the gentleman on the other side of the 
table. He has one of the finest heads and strongest 
faces I ever saw. And what eyes — they look right 
through you. Do you know him ? ” 

“I know him, and I don’t. He is a mystery. If 
I were told that he were the autocrat of this city, 
I should believe it. And yet he permits me to call 
him Sam. He is all things to all men. If you’ll 
permit it. I’ll introduce him to you after dinner.” 

“Thank you. Dear me, we are not done with 
the demigod yet.” 

“It was quite by an accident,” the judge was 
saying. “He had made an invention for coupling 
and uncoupling cars automatically, and he had 
taken out a patent for the invention. In endeavor- 
ing to introduce it, however, he found himself ham- 
pered by a secret and invisible opposition. It was 
the old story of a vast monopoly retarding the 
march of progress for selfish pecuniary ends. But 
this man knew the value of his invention and 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


83 


would accept neither compromise nor defeat. He 
declared war, and entered into a contest appar- 
ently hopeless with a spirit and determination 
nothing less than heroic. As time went on, he was 
naturally led to investigate the whole subject of 
railway rings and monopolies ; his spirit infected 
others, and the sphere of the conflict enlarged. At 
length he found himself at the head of a resolute 
and well equipped body of men, sworn to expose 
and shatter the iniquity which had so long main- 
tained itself in defiance of the public will and weal. 
Such a struggle could not fail to attract wide 
attention. Before it was over our friend was a 
marked man. The qualities he had shown could 
not be spared from political life. He was nomi- 
nated for reform, and there is no 
doubt that he will receive an over- 
whelming popular vote, and, as I 
believe, will run far ahead of his 
ticket. It is noteworthy that many 
even of those who ordinarily might 
have been expected to oppose him 
appear among his supporters in this canvass.’’ 

‘^Is not that rather an ambiguous compliment, 
judge? ” asked one of his hearers. ‘‘I know it has 
puzzled more than one of his friends.” It w^ the 



84 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


personage whom I had referred to tinder the name 
of Sam who put the query. 

am sure that you, at any rate, have not mis- 
interpreted it,’’ retorted the judge, courteously. 

know John North,” said the other. ^^He’s 
honest, and I believe he has too much sense to be 
used as a cat’s-paw. But the support of the men 
you refer to is a queer phenomenon.” 

‘‘Possibly they are capable of better things than 
you suppose,” said a dark browed, smooth faced 
gentleman, affably. 

“Possibly, Mr. Ryan,” said Sam, glancing atthe 
speaker. 

‘ ‘ Did he say J ohn North ? ’ ’ murmured Ann Carew. 
She spoke in such a faint voice that I turned in sur- 
prise, and found her quite pale. 

“The name is a common one,” I remarked. 

“Very common,” avssented she, the color return- 
ing to her face. . After a moment she addressed the 
judge: “What sort of a looking man is this Mr. 
North?” 

“I could hardly describe him to you. Miss Carew. 
As I said, I have not the pleasure of his personal 
acquaintance, and — ” 

“He’s a trifle over forty, well set up, dark beard, 
wears spectacles,” put in Sam, with a polite inclb 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


85 


nation of the head to the young lady. “Nothing 
extraordinary to look at. There might be a 
dozen men in New York who resemble him more or 
less.” 

“Not an unusual type, by any means,” echoed 
Mr. Ryan. “It’s his mental qualities that dis- 
tinguish him. A very eloquent speaker, also.” 

“And that’s another puzzling thing,” said Sam. 
“A month ago John North could hardly string 
a dozen sentences together. Now, he’s as fluent as 
a Frenchman. I haven’t had an opportunity to 
ask him how he manages it. He has become rather 
difficult of access. But it’s an odd development of 
the power of politics.” 

“Not so very rare, I think,” slid in Mr. Ryan, 
softly. “I could recall other instances. It is the 
occasion, you know, that often draws out the 
man.” 

“I think it would be fun to attend a political 
meeting,” said Ann Carew to me, confidentially. 
“It is an experience I’ve never had. Are there to 
be any good ones this week? ” 

“There is to be one to-morrow evening, and John 
North is due to speak at it. Let us make a little 
party, and go — my friend Sam, your aunt, and I. 
Will you do it? ” 


86 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


She looked at me with eyes that lightened by tnms. 
For some reason, she had beeome exeited and 
nervons during the last few minutes. 

‘ ‘ I like your friend, ^ ^ she said, at length ; ‘ ‘ I think I 
shall like him. But I must talk a little with him 
first. Bring him to me after dinner. I have a 
euriosity to see a politieal meeting,” she repeated. 

She was going to say something more, but Mrs. 
Hornbuekle gathered eyes just then, and the ladies 
rose. When we followed them, I presented Sam, 
and left him and Ann Carew in earnest eonversa- 
tion. At the end of the evening, she beekoned me 
aside to say : 

“I have deeided to go. We have made the 
arrangements. My aunt and I will be ready when 
you eall for us to-morrow.” 

Sam and I left the house together. That fellow 
Ryan,” he said, ^^isone of the reasons why I eanT 
make out John North. Ryan is in with one of the 
worst politieal rings in the eity. North eanT be 
Ignorant of it, and yet the two are elose friends. 
Then again. North has taken to evading me and 
some other men who helped to put him where he is. 
This isnT a question of politieal gratitude, though ; 
I don’t want an3rthing from anybody, and if I did 
I eould get it without having to wait long, I guess. 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


87 


But North, as the j’udge said, is not the man to let 
his friends feel snubbed. There^s a screw loose, 
somewhere; I don^t know where, but I mean to 
find out.^’ 

“I have no doubt youll succeed.” 

‘^Miss Ann Carew is a nice young lady,” 
remarked Sam, as we walked along. ‘‘ Did she ever 
know him? ” 

‘‘North? Not that I^m aware.” 

“There^s no telling about women. I go this 
way. See you to-morrow. Good-night.” 

# * * 

The hall was crowded, but Sam secured good 
seats for our little party near the stage on which 
the orators of the evening were to hold forth. Ann 
Carew’s aunt sat between Sam and myself; Ann 
herself was on my right. She was animated, but 
did not talk much. She kept her eyes busy. 

“Do you see John North,” she asked me. 

As I did not know the man by sight, I passed 
the question to Sam, who shook his head. The 
speaking began. It was of the familiar campaign 
order, and was received with the familiar campaign 
enthusiasm. The atmosphere of the hall was bad, 
and I began to feel bored. By and by there was a 


88 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


stir at the rear of the stage, and the chairman, ris- 
ing, announced Mr. John North. 

The person thus designated made his way 
through the group, and stepped into the vacant 
space on the chairman^s right. Cheers were called 
for, and given with heartiness. John North 
bowed, and adjusted his spectacles. He stood in a 
graceful position, one hand behind him, and the 
other ready for gesture at his side. In his 
demeanor there was certainly nothing of the green- 
horn. He seemed a man accustomed to face 
crowds. When silence was restored he began to 
speak quietly, but, from the very first, with effect. 
He was a trained orator — a trained orator, rather 
than a natural one. Whence did he get his train- 
ing? From a few weeks^ experience of stump- 
speaking? Who ever heard of such a thing? Yet 
here was the fact before our eyes. I became so 
much interested in his sjDcech that I forgot all 
about Ann Carew. I was recalled by an odd inci- 
dent. John North was in the midst of one of his 
most impressive periods, and the audience was 
quite silent, when all at once a laugh rang out. I 
could scarcely credit my ears, but it was the laugh 
of Ann Carew. 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


89 


I stared at her m consternation. Nor was I the 
only one who stared. In a moment, 
party was the center of observation, 
continued to laugh, but I now per 
that her laugh was somewhat 
hysterical. As she was a young 
lady of absolutely correct behav i 
ior, this was unaccountable. The ^ 
ence began to 
mur, and citizens] 
various parts oflj 
the hall appealed 
indignantly t o 
the chair for 
order. Mr. 

North, after 
an attempt 
to continue his p 
remarks, wasi 
forced to pause. Mr. Ryan, 
whom I had not observed before, 
rovse from a seat near us and said : 

‘‘A young lady seems to have 
been taken ill; if the audience 
will exercise forbearance, her 
friends will no doubt assist her to leave. Here- 




90 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


Upon, to my additional dismay, and despite the 
convulsive efforts of her aunt to restrain her, Ann 
Carew stood up in her place, and lifted her right 
hand to claim attention, as she might have done 
at school when a child. 

‘‘I am not ill,” she said, in a clear voice, ‘‘but 
I should like to ask the gentleman who had the 
floor a question. Will he allow me ? ” 

The audience was now still once more. The peo- 
ple on the stage exchanged whispers. A voice from 
the gallery called out : 

“Sure, if ’twas me, I^d not stay to be axed; I^d 
be after doin^ the axin’ myself.” 

The audience chuckled at the characteristic gal- 
lantry of the honest Hibernian, and then listened 
for what Ann might have to say. 

“I merely wish to ask the gentleman on the 
stage,” continued Ann, “whether he knows who I 
am? ” 

The orator smiled in a sickly manner, and seemed 
to be rattled. 

“I meet a good many people,” he said, “and I 
have very possibly seen you before. Miss; but I 
can’t say I recall your face at this moment.” 

“No, you do not know me,” broke in Ann, her 
voice now rising high with excitement; “but I 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


91 


know Jotin North, and I say to everyone in this hall 
that you are not — ” 

The rest of the sentence was inaudible, for it was 
drowned in a stentorian shout of order from 
Sam, followed by general uproar, and vigorous 
hammering with the chairman^s gavel. Sam bent 
across and whispered to me : 

We must get her out of this at once, or there’ll 
be trouble.” 

Our seats being on the aisle, we had little diffi- 
culty in escaping, and we were all four of us soon 
in our carriage, with Ann sobbing in her comer, 
but saying nothing ; while her aunt was too much 
scandalized for coherent speech. As Sam and I 
were awaiting further developments before com- 
mitting ourselves, the drive home was a silent 
one. We reached the house and marched in single 
file into the drawing room. 

^^Now, Miss Carew,” said Sam, with composed 
cheerfulness, ‘^just you sit down and tell us all 
about it. You’ve got the key to this puzzle, and 
you must open the lock. I have suspected all 
along there was something crooked going on, and 
I’m sure of it now; but I don’t know what it is, 
and you do; so out with it, and don’t be afraid 
but what we can make it right again,” 


92 


SIX CEKT SAM'S. 


‘‘Ann, yon have behaYcd disgracefnlly, and I 
think the kindest thing these gentlemen can do is 
to forget all about it. I^m sure I was never so 
scandalized and frightened in my life,^’ declared the 
poor aunt, agitatedly. 

“This is a serious matter, madam, and must be 
sifted to the bottom,’^ said Sam, turning to the 
old lady, with a grave face. “Miss Carew had 
good cause to do as she did, and not only we, but 
the public of this city will, I expect, have reason to 
be grateful to her. So now, my dear,^’ he added, 
to the girl, “what is it wrong about this John 
North we saw to-night ? 

Ann sat erect, and lifted her tear-stained face. 

“John North!’’ she cried; “that creature John 
North ? He is an impostor ! The moment I heard 
his voice I knew he was not John North.” 

“Why, Ann, what do you know of any John 
North?” exclaimed the aunt; “I’m sure I never 
heard of him till yesterday.” 

“I know John North; I met him two years ago ; 
we were engaged; but then we quarreled, and I 
have not seen him since.” 

At this information, the aunt coUapsed upon the 
sofa, and Sam said cheerfully: 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


93 


‘^Come, that’s straight and to the point. You 
are certain that this man is not your John North, 
and that your John is the same one the judge 
was talking of last night ? ” 

girl knows the man she loves — ^has loved,” 
said Ann, the color rushing to her face. 

“ But this fellow looks something like him? ” 

‘‘Oh, I suppose he does — something; but not 
enough to deceive anybody with eyes,” she 
replied, impatiently. “And then his voice — ah — ” 
She stopped, evidently in deep emotion. 

“Still this may not be an imposter,” said I to 
Sam, aside. “ There may be two John Norths, 
both genuine; and as to their personal resemblance 
that is by no means so uncommon a thing as most 
people think.” 

Sam shook his head. “I have been puzzled all 
along by a change in the man; he has not looked 
or acted quite the same since the day or two fol- 
lowing his first appearance on the rostrum. Then 
again, if he is an impostor, it will explain one 
problem that has troubled me all along.” 

“A problem? ” 

“ The way in which the ‘ring’ people suddenly 
turned and supported him.” 

“How is that? ” 


94 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


dear sir,’’ said Sam, with some severity, 
^^John North is a genuine reformer, not one for 
revenue only, and therefore he is the mortal enemy 
of the men who are posing in that hall as his friends 
and supporters. The judge is an old innocent, and 
is honestly humbugged ; but I suppose you and I 
know better. These rascals have run across a man 
whom anyone but the girl who loves him would 
mistake for the real John, but who is in fact a 
creature of their own, secretly pledged to support 
them in all their iniquities, and a clever orator to 
boot. Well, they put the real man out of the way, 
and stick this fellow in his place. Do you begin to 
see which way the cat jumps now ? ” 

Put him out of the way ?” 

^^In one fashion or another. I mean to find out 
how. There are desperate men among them, and 
John North has shown that he is a hard man to 
subdue. If they couldn’t head him off in any other 
way, they have made another Cronin case out of 
him. This is the nineteenth century, I know, and 
we are a highly civilized people; but such things 
do happen.” 

‘‘It seems too bold; the risk is too great; I can 
hardly believe it.” 

“ The audacity makes it safe. The public is never 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


95 


inclined to believe the worst. Besides, John North 
is known personally to very few persons. This 
girl may be the only human being who can cer- 
tainly identify him. If the man still lives she will 
be the means of saving his life. By the way, Miss 
Carew,” he added, turning to her, ^‘did North ever 
speak to you about any invention that he was 
interested in?” 

‘^He invented a car-coupling; it was when the 
judge spoke of that last night that I knew it must 
be my John North.” 

‘^Well, that settles it,” said Sam, nodding his 
head and getting up. ‘‘There canT be two John 
Norths, both of whom invented car-couplings. 
Miss Carew, you have made the most important 
political stroke of this campaign. I shall be back 
here in two hours. If I bring back the genuine 
John North to you, will you kiss and make up with 
him?” 

“I will — kiss you,” said Ann, with a sparkle in 
her eyes and a flame in her cheeks. 

“Ifllearn that kiss, or know the reason why,” 
returned Sam, with a deep respect in his voice that 
made me love him. “Come along,” he added to 
me. “Ifll show you some of the inside of New 
York politics.” 


96 


SIX CENT vSAM'S. 


We went to the east side, and stopped before a 
modest brown-stone house in the midst of a block. 
At the foot of the steps Sam turned to me and 
said : 

^^Have you got a gun?^’ 

Of course I haven^t. Do you expect — ’’ 

^‘Well, I have two, and you may as well take 
one. We may run across a gorilla, or a — tiger, 
you know. Put it in your pocket, and say no 
more about it unless I give the word. Now, then 

He rang the bell, and the door was opened by a 
stout, low-browed fellow, in a black cardigan 
jacket. 

‘‘Ah, Tom,” said Sam, shouldering in past him, 
followed by myself, who was feeling anything but 
comfortable. “Tell the Boss I must see him right 
away.” 

“De Boss ainT at home,” began the fellow; but 
Sam cut him short. 

“If he isn’t at home, it’ll be as much as your 
place is worth — or his either, for that matter. 
This is biz, my lad — see ? That’ll do ; you go back 
downstairs, and we’ll find our way. Now, cap- 
tain.” 

Encouraged by this title, I followed my conduc- 
tor upstairs and into a small room in the rear, 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


^7 


fitted tip as a library. A man who bad been seabd 
at a table stood up and faced us. It was Mr> 
Ryan. 

‘‘Evening, old man,’’ said Sam, eurtly, taking n 
the room at a glance and 
stepping in front of a doer 
at the rear, which was partljr 
open. “Nice meeting to- 
night, was n’t it ? Hate t) 
bother you, but this con- 
' founded election hurries 
things up so! It is 
that North affair, you 
know.” 

“Glad to see you, gentle- 
men,” said Ryan, with a 
pale grin. “I really don’t 
know — ” 

“I was sure of that. But we must go through 
the forms, you know. Here’s the warrant for your 
arrest — the bail won’t be over twenty thousand. 
Put on your coat, and we’ll step round to the office 
and get the thing fixed up and be back here in time 
for breakfast. How’s that ? ” 

“A warrant for my arrest? On what charge? 
Are you aware — ” 

7 



98 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


Oh, I say ! It was a mighty smart move, but 
ve been onto you from the start. I was for set- 
tliig it quietly, as between friends ; but I’m afraid 
iti too late now. We gave you the straight tip 
m>re than once, but you wouldn’t take it. You 
I’t expect to kidnap a man like that, and have 
ncjbody squeal. Do you chaps want the earth? 
Mkybe you’ll get it; but John North is another 


tHng.” 

^s he uttered the last word Sam made a move- 
ment as quick as lightning, and Ryan was covered 
by his revolver. The hand of the latter had been 
creeping toward a drawer in the table. He with- 
drew it with a start, and sank into his chair. Sam 
reached over, felt in the drawer, and possessed 
himself of the other’s weapon. 

‘‘It’s a good make,” he remarked, examining it 
critically, and ejecting the cartridges. “I like my 
own better, though. Well, let us get down to bus- 
iness. No funny work. What do you propose? 
There’s more things hanging over your head, Mike 
Ryan, than there are hams on the ceiling of a cor- ♦ 
ner grocery. If anything drops, there won’t be 
enough of you left to pick up. That’s all.” 

Ryan was silent for a minute or two. Then he 
looked up and said politely : 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


99 


‘‘What can I do for you, gentlemen? Anything 
in my power I shall be happy to — ” 

“It’s just this, Mike; we have urgent business 
with Mr. North — not the orator, you know, but 
the one you persuaded to go into temporary retire- 
ment. If you can produce him within a reasonable 
time — say three minutes — I might contrive to 
mislay this warrant, and then — How does that 
strike you?” 

“That will be all, will it? You see, I’m in an 
accommodating mood.” 

“That’s all; except that our oratorical friend 
must work some other claim — the further from 
here the better for him.” 

“Of course you understand my position,” said 
Ryan, recovering his smoothness of manner. 
“What was done was for the best interests of Mr. 
North — almost, I might say, at his instance. He 
has had no practice in public speaking, and his 
health made it unsafe for him to undertake a cam- 
paign at this inclement season. We wanted him 
to reserve his strength for the work of the office, 
and we fortunately found a gentleman qualified to 
take his place on the stump as his locum tenens. 
Meanwhile, Mr. North has been enjoying a com- 
plete rest, much to his benefit, as you will — ” 


100 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


‘‘Just two minutes/’ interposed Sam, glancing 
at his watch. “ I love to hear you talk, Ryan, but 
you know how I’m fixed.” 

“Will you trouble yourself to call Tom?” said 
Ryan, smiling. “I believe he has been under your 
orders since you came here. Ask him to request 
the gentleman upstairs to step this way.” 

To make a long story shorter, in half an hour wc 
had John North, — the real John, — not so much the 
worse for his three weeks’ seclusion, safe in the 
Carews’ drawing room ; and Sam had earned and 
received his reward. What Ann and North had to 
say to each other, I know not ; but I hear they are 
to be married on Christmas eve. Their quarrel, I 
understand, was on the matter of Ann’s wealth. 
She wanted to give it all to him, and he refused to 
have anything to do with it. But, now that his 
invention has been adopted, he will be at least as 
rich as she. Thanks to the eloquence of his locum 
tenens he was triumphantly elected, and is making 
himself felt in his new position. The public never 
has, and will never know how near they came to 
losing him. Whether the “ Boys ” know it I can’t 
say. If they do, there are reasons why they won’t 
complain. 


THE JOHN NORTH MYSTERY. 


101 


Sam is an extraordinary man. His intuition 
seems to be equal to his knowledge. As for that 
warrant which he produced so pat to the occasion, 
I have the best of reasons for believing that it was 
only a blank form, and that Mr. Ryan was under 
no obligations to be so obliging as he was. John 
North was inclined to make it hot for his quondam 
host at first, but he was persuaded to think better 
of it, and Mr. Ryan is still an honorable member 
of the commtmity. 


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^ • •, 



A MODEL MURDER. 



one of the streets above 
Union Square, there is a 
waxwork exhibition known 
as the Paradise Museum,’^ 
or some such name. It has an 
ornamental facadcy and the fun 
I begins even before you have 
bought your ticket. Persons who 
lilook real, but who are really 
wax, stand about the ticket 
office with intent to deceive. 
Within are groups and single figures, artfully dis- 
posed among the living spectators, and seeming 
to join with them in admiration of waxen kings 
and queens, statesmen and musicians, criminals 
and authors, who are avowedly on exhibition. 
But should you address to one of them words of 
friendly inquiry, or ask him to make more room 
on the bench, or to stand aside and give you a 
chance to see something, his unresponsiveness and 
immobility strike you, and, glancing more nar- 

103 


104 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


rowly at him, you discover that he lacks a soul. 
The revelation gives you a shock, and you end by 
distrusting the reality even of your familiar friends. 

Finding myself the other day with half a dollar 
in my pocket at the door of this paradisaical insti- 
tution, I went in to refresh my recollections of the 
crowned heads and other eminent personages of 
foreign lands. After exploring the rooms on the 
ground floor, and resisting the blandishments of 
more recondite mysteries at ten cents extra, I came 
to a broad flight of steps leading downward. 
Descending, I arrived in a sort of crypt, with 
recesses and branching corridors, wherein were 
exposed such scenes and characters as, by reason 
of their ghastly and sinister quality, had been 
segregated from the more cheerful assemblage 
upstairs. In the lamplit gloom of this region a 
dozen or more visitors were strolling about, and 
among them I was glad to recognize my young 
friend Mr. Alexander Cholmondely Phipps, and his 
genial uncle. Major Foljambe. 

Mr. Phipps is just twenty years old. On his 
majority, he will come into possession of a good 
deal of property; his uncle in the meantime acts as 
his guardian and trustee. The major is a Virgin- 
ian, and his military rank was won by gallant 


A MODEL MURDER. 


105 


service in the Lost Cause. He is a hearty and 
winning old gentleman, more of a boy than his 
nephew, who, indeed, has the air of a man of the 
world for whom few illusions survive. He has 
been to Europe (Mr. Phipps has), and has seen 
society and life on both sides of the Atlantic. He 
plays the races moderately, drops into Daly^s 
when the other places are shut up, sips a cocktail 
in the Hoffman House cafe, discusses with Mr. 
Edwards the prospects of the coming mill, break- 
fasts at noon at Delmonico^s, has a box or at stall 
on first nights at the theaters, and arrays himself 
with an assiduity and taste that prompts one to 
rejoice that Eve ate the apple. In stature, Mr. 
Alexander Cholmondely Phipps is not so much tall 
as short, and more slender than massive; but 
there is in his gait and bearing a repose and 
dignity which more than compensate for his physi- 
cal unimportance. He is, I have been informed, a 
terrible fellow with women, and a man to stand no 
nonsense from beings of his own sex. His speech 
is slow and considered, and he is unable to divest 
himself, even in this country, of a slight English 
accent. 

Fortunate in so many respects, Mr. Phipps is 
perhaps especially blessed in his uncle. The major 


106 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


not only serves as a perfect foil to his nephew, but is 
lost in admiration of him, quotes his sayings and 
celebrates his doings, follows him about as a child 
follows an organ-grinder’s monkey, roars at his 
pleasantries, and backs his opinions. Major 
Foljambe is six feet high, and weighs two hundred 
and thirty pounds ; his garments are effusive, care- 
less and full of color ; his face is fleshy and rosy, his 
eyes twinkle, his laugh is joyous and contagious, 
his speech full-lunged and mellow, and soft with 
the Virginia atmosphere. 



retains all the illusions which 
Alexander Cholmondely has ^ 
outgrown ; and though he^j 
tracks about after him as . 


long as he can keep 
awake, and does his fair ^ 


share of the birds, bottles. 


and cigars, his eyes are innocent of iniquity, and 
his heart is without guile. Altogether, the two 
make a delectable team. 

^^By Gad, sah, I’m glad to see you,” cried the 
major, grasping my hand. Where ’ve yo’ been 
keepin’ yo’ se’f? Aleck and I tho’t we’d take in 
the show, heah. Oh, let me make yo’ acquainted 
with our friend. Lord Camoys; Aleck used to know 


A MODEIv MURDER. 


107 


some of his folks abroad. They tell me this is 
nothing alongside of Mrs. Twoso’s, in London.” 

Not half bad, though, ^ ^ remarked Lord Camoys, 
a reserved and well groomed young Englishman, 
who had acknowledged the introduction with a 
scrutinizing monocle and a slight bow. 

‘‘There’s an element of— er — ^vulgarity in wax- 
works, don’t you know,” Mr. Phipps observed, 
touching his moustache fastidiously with the tip 
of the ring-finger of his right hand. 

“Well, I reckon yo’ right about that,” the major 
assented, thoughtfully. 

We were standing in front of one of a series of 
scenes, in which is portrayed the story of a murder. 
The impressiveness of the scene was somewhat 
marred by the fact that a couple of workmen were 
engaged in putting in position a new model of the 
figure of the murdered man, the original having 
presumably been injured. 

“That’s more like life than any of ’em, Camoys,” 
said Phipps, indicating the corpse with the handle 
of his silver-mounted cane. “I’ve seen achap shot, 
and he looked a good bit like that.” 

The major shouted with laughter. 

“Like life! Ha, ha, ha! By Gad, sah, that’s 
immense! Ain’t it? Ha, ha, ha!” 


108 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


^^The corpse was not of your own manufacture, 
I trust, Mr. Phipps, said I. 

he replied, languidly. make a point of 
always going armed, though. No telling what 
may happen in this country, you know, Camoys. 
If a fellow insults you, I believe in shooting him, 
by Jove. Call him out first, of course, and that 
sort of thing. 

‘^He’s right,’’ said the faithful major. ‘‘No 
decent society possible without the code, sah. 
Show Camoys that little gun of yo’s, Aleck.” 

“It’s — er — a neat little thing,” said Aleck, pro- 
ducing from his hip-pocket a silver mounted, pearl 
handled toy of death. “I’ll lay I can make a bull’s- 
eye with that at twenty paces, nine times in ten. 
Take me? ” 

“Don’t care if I do,” answered the Englishman. 

‘ ‘ Hundred even. ’ ’ 

‘■‘Done. Uncle, you hold the money. We can 
drop into Burton’s gallery on our way up town, 
and bring it off. Haven’t you had enough of this 
hole? ” 

“I’m with you, old chap,” said his lordship. “I 
say, by the way, I want you to stop at my hotel 
and meet my cousin, Mrs. Cavendish. Nice girl. 
Husband on his way to join her on the next 


A MODEL MURDER. 


109 


steamer. She’s heard of you, and made me prom- 
ise to bring you. Fancy you’ll like her.” 

“With the greatest of pleasure, old chap,” 
responded Aleck; and with that the party took 
their leave, leaving me a good deal interested in 
Lord Camoys. He seemed to me an unusually 
observant and thoughtful young Englishman. 

Late the next afternoon, I ran into the major on 
the corner of Thirty-Seventh street and Fifth ave- 
nue. He grasped me as if I were a life-preserver in 
a stormy sea. 

“ By Gad, my boy, this is luck. Yo’ just the man 
I wanted. Come up to my rooms. Most te’ible 
thing, sah, that evah was known. Must tell yo’ 
’bout it. Come up! I’m just ’bout distracted, 
that I am, sah.” 

In a few minutes we were in his sitting room. 
The major did certainly appear to be out of order, 
as he sank pantiiig into a chair. 

Though the weather was cool, he was perspiring 
profusely. His gray hair was unbrushed. His 
crimson neck-scarf was untied, and hung down over 
his rumpled shirt front. His right boot was unbut- 
toned ; his complexion indicated sleeplessness, and 
there was unaffected anguish in his expressiou. 
His tale, in substance, was as follows : 


110 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


He and Aleck had parted, after the visit to decide 
the shooting wager at Burton^s gallery ; Aleck had 
lost by three points. Aleck and Camoys then went 
to call on Mrs. Cavendish, and the major repaired 
to his club. It was understood that the party 
were to reunite and dine there at seven o’clock, and 
then go to the opera. At half-past seven, the 
young men not having appeared, the major ate his 
dinner alone, smoked his cigar, split a brandy and 
soda with his friend Colonel Magruder, and looked 
in at the opera. Neither Aleck nor Camoys were 
there. Until midnight, the old gentleman strolled 
about from one resort to another, and then went 
home. In expectation of Aleck’s return, he waited 
up till two o’clock in the morning, and then fell 
into an uneasy sleep on the sofa. At nine A. m. he 
was awakened by the appearance of Camoys, with 
a very grave face. He held in his hand a sealed 
letter, written by Aleck, and containing these words : 

“Dear Uncle: — Lord Camoys will tell you that my life is in 
danger, and the reason why. I am in hiding, and shall leave 
the country on the first opportunity. Make a draft for ten 
thousand dollars, get it cashed, and hand the money to 
Camoys for me. For God’s sake, and as you value my safety, 
lose no time. If I am discovered before I can get off, it is all up 
with me. Camoys will explain everything, 

“ Your affectionate nephew, 

“Alex. C. Phipps.” 


A MODEL MURDER. 


Ill 


The letter was dated at four o^clock the same 
morning. 

Lord Camoys, on being besought by the agitated 
major to let him know the worst, related that 
he and Aleck had, as arranged, called on Mrs. 
Cavendish. ‘^Mrs. Cavendish,” Camoys had 
observed, ‘4s a very beautiful ' woman. Your 
nephew, as you know, is a dangerously fascinating 
man. Mr. Cavendish, her husband, was an elderly 
man, infatuated with his young wife, and, unfortu- 
nately, insanely jealous of her. It was almost his 
only foible, except a naturally violent and ungov- 
ernable temper.” 

Camoys went on to say that Aleck and Mrs. 
Cavendish had at once taken a most extraordi- 
nary fancy to one another. It was, in fact, a case 
of love at first sight. Camoys declared that he had 
never seen anything like it. At first he became 
amused, then uneasy, and finally he was alarmed. 
Nothing he could say availed to restrain the mad- 
ness of the young people. They seemed to be 
hurried quite bey ond their self-control. At length, 
in despair, Camoys had started to find the major, 
in the hope that his influence with his nephew 
might be effective. To his horror, at the foot of 
the stairs, he encountered Mr. Cavendish, who had 


112 


SIX CENT SAM*S. 


arrived a day earlier than he had been expected. 
Camoys tried to prevent him from going upstairs, 
and then to delay him long enough to give warning 
to Aleck. But it was in vain ; Cavendish became 
suspicious, rushed upstairs, burst into the room — 
and found his wife in Aleck^s arms. 

A terrible scene ensued. After a torrent of violent 
language Cavendish struck Aleck a blow in the face. 
Aleck, who, according to Camoys, had remained 
calm and dignified throughout, could do no other- 
wise than demand the satisfaction due to the honor 
of a gentleman. Leaving the hotel and Mrs. 
Cavendish they proceeded to Camoys^ rooms. 
There the duel took place. Cavendish was foam- 
ing with rage; Aleck was composed. At a signal 
given by Camoys, they fired at a distance apart of 
ten paces. Aleck^s bullet pierced Cavendish’s right 
temple, and the man fell dead. 

^‘Good Gad, sah,’^ moaned the major, mopping 
his forehead and staring me piteously in the 
face, ‘^Did yo’ evah heah of anythin^ so tefible in 
yo’ bo^n days? ” 

At my earnest request he resumed his narrative. 
He had asked Camoys what disposition had been 
made of the body. The Englishman had replied 
that it still lay where it had fallen, in his rooms; 


A MODEL MURDER. 


113 


and lie insisted that the major should accompany 
him thither and view it. “I am obliged to con- 
sider myself, major,’^ he had remarked, ‘^and I can- 
not undergo alone the responsibility of this tragic 
affair.” He added that out of friendship for Aleck 
and at his entreaty, he had consented to do the 
best he could to dispose of the corpse secretly, or, 
if possible, to feign the ease to be one of suicide. 
For the suceess of this plan, however, it would be 
indispensable to buy outright a physician, a detec- 
tive, a coroner, a judge and a newspaper; and 
that would make a large hole in ten thousand 
dollars. Meanwhile, the most pressing duty of the 
moment was to remove Aleek out of the reach of 
danger. If caught, he would unquestionably be 
hanged, which, as Camoys justly observed, would 
be a pity, since he had behaved admirably all 
through, and slain his man in fair fight. All this 
while Camoys had been dragging the reluctant 
major along to his rooms, where, at this juncture, 
they arrived. Sick at heart, the major mounted 
the stairs, and entered the fatal ehamber. 

‘‘Nevah seen such a awful sight in my life, sah,” 
said the major. There he lay, on his back, with 
a hole through his head, weltehng in his go^h. It 

made me sick, I assuah you, sah.” 

8 


114 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


‘‘You actually saw him dead, then? I asked, 
not a little startled at this consummation; for I 
confess that I had up to this time hoped that the 
major’s credulity had in some manner been played 
upon. 

“Saw him? Yo’ can bet yo’ life I saw him,” 
returned the old warrior. “An’ in all my wah 
expe’ience, sah, I nevah encountah’d so ghastly a 
spectacle.” 

It had then been close on to ten o’clock, and the 
banks were open ; the money must be drawn out 
at once. Major Foljambe had expressed to Lord 
Camoys a desire to see Aleck ; but the latter had 
pointed out that, were they to go together to 
Aleck’s place of concealment, they might be fol- 
lowed by detectives, and thus 
all their precautions be frus- 
trated. 

“Your relationship to him is 
known,” the Englishman had 
said, “and if anything has 
leaked out, you would be 
tracked wherever you go. If 
you refrain from going near 
Aleck at present, it’s certain 
he will not be discovered through you; and if I 



A MODEL MURDER. 


115 


don’t reveal to you where he is, you will be able 
truthfully to take your oath, if necessary, that you 
don’t know.” 

The major could not controvert these argu- 
ments, and they went to the bank, where the check 
was drawn and cashed, and the money handed to 
Camoys. The latter then left him, promising to 
return and report progress at or before four 
o’clock. The major had waited till six, and then 
fearing the worst, had been on his way to visit 
the offices of all the steamship lines, when he had 
met me. 

‘‘Let us,” said I, after an interval of profound 
consideration, “go down to Six Cent Sam’s. 
There are some features of this thing that strike 
me as queer. If anybody can help, Sam is the 
man. Come with me, major, and tell your tale to 
him.” 

We repaired to the obscure retreat in question, 
and I presented the major to Sam. The latter, 
after hearing the story, said : 

“I’m afraid your nephew fell into bad company, 
major. I have heard of Lord Camoys before. I 
guess it’ll be too late to save the cash, but we will 
probably be able to rescue Master Aleck. Take us 
to Camoys’ apartments, the first thing.” 


116 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


When we got there, the door was locked; but 
Sara, who never seemed delayed or disturbed by 
any obstacle, soon had it open. Within, all was 
dark; Sam struck a match, and lit the gas. The 
room thus disclosed was scantily furnished, and 
the bare table, which stood in the center of the 
floor, was covered with dust. At the further end 
of the room was another door, which was closed. 
We walked round the table, and I saw, with a 
start, a confused object extended on the floor at 
my feet. It seemed to be the body of a man, lying 
on its back, with the face exposed. In the forehead 
was a gaping wound, from which a dark stream 
of blood had flowed downward across the cheek, 
and matted the gray hair. It was, as the major 
had said, a ghastly spectacle. Sam looked nar- 
rowly at it a moment, and then glanced up at us 
with a curious low chuckle. 

‘‘Good Gad, sah?’^ exclaimed the horrified 
major, “how can a man with a human heart in his 
bosom look upon a sight like that and find any- 
thing to amuse him ? Are you a man, sah ? ” 

“If I am,” returned Sam, drily, “that^s more 
than this thing ever was. Besides that, I Ve seen 
it before.” 

“Seen it befo^ sah?” cried the major, “how can 


A MODEL MURDER. 


117 


that be ? Do n’t I tell yo’ that the man was killed 
only this mawnin’, sah?” 

All the same, I saw this corpse as long as six 
months ago,” answered Sam, quietly. ‘‘About 
that time, I happened to look in one day at a place 
you may never have visited — ^the Paradise Museum, 
they call it. This corpse was part of an exhibit in 
a model of a murder in the Chamber of Horrors 
there. They have replaced it by another, I sup- 
pose, and sold this one for old junk. Your friend 
Lord Camoys bought it, and has turned it to 
profitable account, if, as you say, you gave him 
ten thousand dollars for it. It was a clever trick, 
though, and I give him credit.” So saying, Sam 
gave the thing a kick, and the waxen face sepa- 
rated from the mass of clothes and the bolster with 
which it had been connected, and the whole fraud 
was exposed. 

The major stood stupefied. “Tha’ must have 
been somebody killed though,” he ejaculated at 
last. “Where’s the real co’pse ? ” 

“He has lived to fight another day, I’m afraid,” 
said Sam. “Perhaps Master Aleck will be able to 
tell us something about that. Let’s ask him.” 

“We don’ know wha^ he is, sah,” rejoined the 
major. 


118 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


“He ought not to be far off/^ said Sam. “ These 
folk’s do n’t usually go to any unnecessary expense 
in hiring rooms. Suppose you try that door, sir.” 

This door was also locked. The major pounded 
on it. There was no response. 

“Speak to him, sir,” Sam advised. “Let him 
know he’s among friends.” 

“Aleck! Aleck, my boy!” shouted the other. 
“It’s me — it’s yo’ uncle. It’s all right. Come out 
—the whole thing’s a damned plant. Open the 


do’.” 


A pause. Then the door slowly opened, and the 


haggard and hollow-cheeked 
visage of Aleck timidly peered 
out. It was only upon re- 
newed assurances of safety 
that he ventured forth. His 
knees wavered beneath him, 
and his voice was a tremulous 
whisper. After a good deal of 
more or less unintelligible 
question and answer on both 
sides, his version of the terrors 
of the past night was elicited. 



It was found to differ in some important particu- 


A MODEL MURDER. 


119 


lars from that prepared for the honest major’s con- 
sumption by their friend Lord Camoys. 

According to this statement it would appear 
that Camoys had, indeed, introduced him to a 
lady denominated Mrs. Cavendish, and it was not 
long before she had given him to understand that 
he had made a deep impression on her heart. A 
bottle of champagne had helped forward the prog- 
ress of the passion. After a while, Camoys had 
discreetly retired. Ere long, however, and at a 
critical moment, he reappeared, accompanied by a 
burly and very wrathful gentleman. Mrs. 
Cavendish had shrieked ‘‘My husband,” and van- 
ished. The man of wrath, after chasing Aleck 
round the room in a terrible manner, swore that 
he would have his life, and went off in search of 
weapons, bidding Camoys guard him till his 
return. The latter, however, had very humanely 
assisted Aleck to escape, and had hurried him to 
his rooms. There he had informed him that his 
only chance of life lay in leaving for Europe by the 
next steamer ; it would be still better to make it 
Patagonia or the Samoan Islands. Mr. 
Cavendish, he had added, would never rest until he 
had quaffed Aleck’s heart blood; but the more 
remote the wilderness into which the victim fled, 


120 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


the longer, of course, was that sanguinary con- 
summation likely to be delayed. Did he need 
money? Camoys generously offered him all he 
had in his pockets, amounting to four or five dol- 
lars; but Aleck had pointed out that he had 
money of his own, or which at all events was to 
become his own, should he be fortunate enough to 
survive a few months longer. He had then indited 
the note which Camoys had so obligingly carried 
to the major. Camoys had left him with the 
friendly injunction to keep himself safe locked up 
till his return, which would be, he said, as soon as 
he could start off Cavendish to the North Pole, or 
on some other false scent. Camoys had not 
returned yet, and Aleck had been very hungry, 
very thirsty, and dreadfully alarmed during some 
eighteen lonely hours. 

During the progress and development of this 
touching tale the major^s countenance was a 
study. After passing through various stages of 
crimson, it ended by becoming purple. He called 
out: 

Wha’s yo^ revolver, sah? ” 

‘Hn my pocket, uncle, replied the youth, feebly. 

^^An’ d^ yo^ mean to tell me, sah, that yo’ ran 
away from that fellow, sah, with yo’ tail between 


A MODEL MURDER. 


121 


jo’ legs, by Gad, instead of shootin’ him full 
holes, like a man an’ a Southron, an’ member of an 
old an’ respected Virginia fam’ly, sah ? I blush fo’ 
yo’, by. Gad, sah. Mo’ovah, yo’ve been swindled 
by a lot of o’na’y blacklegs, sah; they’ve got off 
with ten thousand dollahs in cash, sah ; and ’pon 
my soul an’ sacred honah, sah. I’ll petition the leg- 
islature to have yo’ decla’ed non compos mentisy 
sah; an’ if yo’ ever get out of the asylum fo’ imbe- 
ciles, yo’ll be kept fo’ the rest of yo’ mis’able exist- 
ence on twelve dollahs a week, sah.” 

This was hardly quite just on the major’s part, 
inasmuch as he too had not escaped being hood- 
winked by the too seductive Lord Camoys. But 
the scolding will do Mr. Alexander Cholmondely 
Phipps no harm. He puts on no high airs now, 
and his speech has quite lost all traces of the cock- 
ney idiom. He trots about meekly in the major’s 
wake. It is he that laughs at the major’s jokes 
now, with a sad and perfunctory cackle. 

As for Lord Camoys, Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish, 
and that ten thousand dollars cash, they have not 
yet been heard from. 



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THE SYMPOSIUM. 



S Christmas drew near, I 


foregone, and I ac- 
cepted with alacrity 


received an invitation 
from my old friend Six 
Cent Sam to eat a Christ- 
mas dinner at his estab- 


lishment. It was an 
enjoyment not to be 


and thanks. The hour was eight p. m., before 
which time the modest establishment of the 
man of mystery had been closed for business. On 
arriving, I found about a dozen other guests, most 
of whom were unknown to me. Evening dress 
was not worn. Sam received me with his usual 
undemonstrative but cordial hospitality, and, 
taking my arm, led the way into the dining room. 

We were seated at a round table, and, so far as 
position was concerned, were therefore all on a 
footing of equality ; nevertheless, now as at all 
times, Sam^s seat was, like Rob Roy MacGregor^s, 


125 




126 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


the head of the table. The dinner was a great, 
good, solid feast, such as one seldom gets a chance 
at in these degenerate times; we had roast-beef 
and plum-pudding, besides innumerable lesser joys ; 
plenty of sound claret and Burgundy, and, at 
dessert, some of my friend Lorenz Reich’s far-famed 
Tokay. By the time the last course was removed, 
every manat table felt as if he was in the enjoyment 
of an income of $100,000 a year, with none of the 
anxiety and distress which such an encumbrance is 
reputed to bring with it. There was a general 
sentiment of full-fledged content, and each man 
looked at his brother with a feeling of good will 
and mutual congratulation. Then Sam struck on 
the table with his knife handle, and rose to his 
feet amid a general murmur of applause. 

<‘My good friends,” began Sam, “I am not 
going to make you a speech, nor shall I call upon 
anyone else to do so. There’s nothing formal 
about this dinner ; all we want, I take it, is to meet 
one another and have a good time. But, after 
eating one’s fill, the mind naturally turns to poetry 
and romance. Now, I have reason to believe that 
there are among us a number of good fellows who 
have had experiences worth telling about, or who 
have at least heard something that the rest of us 


'THE symposium. 


127 


would be glad to share their knowledge of. So I 
mean to ask them to tell us their stories, one after 
the other; and after you are all done, and the time 
to say good-bye comes, I will tell 3^ou the reason 
why I have done myself the pleasure and honor to 
ask you to meet me here to-night. Well, then, if 
we are all ready, I will ask the gentleman sitting 
opposite me to begin. Tragedy or comedy — it’s all 
grist that comes to this mill ; and if it’s to be 
tragedy, I guess we are better able to stand it now 
than we may be to-morrow morning.” 

When the applause that followed these remarks 
had subsided, the personage whom Sam had desig- 
nated pushed back his chair, and threw his napkin 
on the table. He was a grave and thoughtful 
looking gentleman, and his profession, I have 
grounds for thinking, was that of purveying to 
publishers the material out of which they supplied 
themselves with city mansions, horses and car- 
riages, boxes at the opera, and the like necessities 
of existence. He twisted his short beard between 
his fingers for a few moments, and then, with his 
eyes fixed upon an oil portrait that hung over the 
mantelpiece, he spoke as follows: 


128 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


THE author’s story. 



Fifth aventie, one Sun* 
day afternoon, a year 
or two ago, a beautiful 
girl passed me. That 
is no uncommon thing; 
but a circumstance drew 
my attention to it. She 
had just before stopped 
to speak with some one 
and a smile was lingering 
on her face as she went by me. The influence of 
the meeting was about her like a pleasant per- 
fume, setting her momentarily apart from her 
actual surroundings; the thought of him was 
with her still, imparting a tender privacy to her — 
for it seemed to me that she loved him. 

I thought, ‘‘He’s a lucky fellow!^’ and wondered 
who he might be. He was in the crowd ahead of 
me — the smiling, well dressed, leisurely crowd that 
flows to and fro along the avenue at that hour. I 
had only to quicken my pace to overtake him and 
determine what manner of man he was. A lucky 
fellow, certainly. For she was indeed a beautiful 


THE author's story. 


129 


girl. Twenty years in this climate gives the per- 
fection of maidenly development ; she was so 
sweetly proportioned that her figure dwelt like a 
musical harmony in the memory. Her grace in 
walking gratified the eye and also the sense of sex ; 
it was the movement of a woman, with the lovely 
womanly differences from all that is masculine. 
She was not a mere face and costume, but a com- 
plete creature, attractive all over. Whether she 
were richly or simply dressed — in or out of the 
fashion — I had not noticed. I felt the human love- 
liness of form and limb, as one remembers the 
beauty of a picture or a statue. That is a rare 
impression nowadays ; and I thought of her as a 
foreigner — foreign, at least, to dry conventions. 
She was at all points alive, with the repose and 
simplicity of genuine life. 

This warm, fragrant quality in her, distinguish- 
ing her from the mass of handsome women, was as 
virginal as it was feminine. Old Italian artists 
have painted such maidens, rich in promise of pas- 
sion, but untouched as the dawn. She had the 
auburn hair and pearly flesh of Titian, and the 
ardent temperament, which yet, until it was 
aroused, might be colder than the common. I did 
not make all these observations at the moment. 

9 


130 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


Thinking over my glimpse of her afterward, I filled 
in the outlines and indica- 
tions, and made a charac- 
ter that may or may not 
have been hers. 

Meantime I had nearly 
overtaken the man with 
whom she had spoken, 
and as he turned his face 
aside I recognized him as 
Linden the artist. I was 
only half pleased, for, 
although Linden could 
tell me who the girl was, and be the 
means of my seeing her again if I 
wished to, I should have preferred 
to let the whole episode remain in 
the region of memory and imag- 
ination, when I could deal with it 
according to my own will. Facts are apt to be 
clumsy, especially when they are concerned with 
beautiful women. In this prosaic age, beauty 
forfeits a charm as soon as it becomes identified 
with a name. I did not care to hear that this 
auburn haired girl was some Miss Manhattan, 
living in a certain house on the Hill, and to be 



THE author’s story. 


131 


dowered on her marriage with snch and such a 
fortune. I wanted to think of her as some 
mediaeval Italian princess who had appeared tome 
mystically for a moment and would never be seen 
again. Linden would spoil all that, though, to be 
sure, there was no need of my saying anything 
to him about her. He would not be likely to vol- 
unteer information. 

However, I joined him, and we asked each other 
where we had been all this while, and what 
we had been doing. It was, I believe, several 
months sinee we had met. Linden was a man one 
does not run aeross at hotels or elubs, and his vis- 
iting list was small ; his studio, on the other hand, 
was in an out of the way loeality ; so it was easy 
to keep out of his way. He was a man of foree 
and originality, but not adaptable; not kindly 
disposed to the fads and foibles of the day, and not 
averse from expressing his aversion. He was nat- 
urally not popular, among his fellow-artists espe- 
cially. He would not allow that there was merit in 
any work but the best. He deelared that an artist 
who painted anything but masterpieces was a dis- 
grace to the calling, and that it might be a good 
thing to kill him. The production of pot boilers 
was, to his thinking, rank dishonesty. It is true 


132 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


that he held himself to his own high standard, but 
then he would accept no criticism save his own, 
and he regarded himself as equal to any of the old 
masters. 

Now, self-conceit in a young painter is not 
unheard of; the strange thing in Linden’s case 
was that his pictures were really good. There 
was something in them to be found in the work of 
none of his contemporaries. They were original, 
and each painting meant something. Sometimes 
this meaning would be conveyed chiefly by the 
color, sometimes by the form, sometimes by both 
alike. There was deep thought in them, and the 
manipulation of a strong, penetrating, unique 
mind. To study them was to become interested 
not in the painting only, but in the painter too. 
You might not always like them, but their power 
and beauty were not to be denied. I can fancy a 
sensitive person of a certain temperament being 
painfully agitated by them. They had a life ; they 
suggested different things in different moods ; they 
seemed to grow and change from day to day. The 
subjects treated were peculiar; sometimes land- 
scape, sometimes figure. They were dominated by 
an intense idea, which gradually shone through 
the composition and touched you more than the 


t'HlJ AUTHOR^S story. 


133 


visible symbol. With all his profound insight and 
lofty imagination, it always appeared to me that 
something was lacking or awry in Linden’s charac- 
ter. There were dark, unholy traits in him. Like 
the Persian Omar, he joined in himself heaven and 
hell, and God as well as man. Combined with an 
exquisite delicacy, therefore, there was occasion- 
ally a cruelty and impiety in his productions that 
made one recoil, as if a serpent had hissed from the 
bosom of a flower. 

His pictures are little known to the public because 
he would not sell them (he had an independent 
property and was not dependent on his brush), 
and was even averse to showing them to people he 
did not know and like. His studio was on the top 
floor of an old fashioned house on the west side oi 
the city, belonging to himself He was unmarried 
— I was about to say as a matter of course ; at any 
rate, I had never thought of 
him as likely to change his 
bachelorhood. He was able 
enough, heaven knows, to 
win a woman and make her 
happy, but he looked upon 
himself mainly as an agent for 
the vindication and expansion of art, and sank the 



lU 


SIX CEKl' SAM^S. 


personal question. Had he thought the interests 
of art demanded it, he would have married a new 
wife every day — or with the same passionate per- 
sistence, have remained chaste and celibate all his 
lifelong. As it was, marriage was something about 
which he did not trouble himself, save to interpret 
its philosophic meaning in terms of art. 

Well, as I said, we walked down the avenue 
together, and soon Linden had got on some topic 
that interested him — ^for that matter, he would 
never talk long on any topic that did not interest 
him — and in order to make things easier we turned 
off at Thirty-Fourth street and went westward. 
The noise of the crowded avenue died away and we 
were in comparative solitude, and Linden’s deep, 
quick voice was the sound now clearly audible. 

There is a moment in every life when it touches 
its most expressive, most characteristic point. It 
should stop there. It is a waste and a crime to 
live longer.” 

^‘How are you to know when you get to it? ” I 
inquired. 

‘‘Let your neighbors decide.” 

“How many people would be left alive at the 
end of a year?” 


THE author’s story. 


135 


the time the world is wise enough to admit 
the truth of my principle it will be wise enough to 
act upon it justly. And no man or woman who is 
truly sane would care to prolong his existence 
beyond the epoch at which he began to retro- 
grade.” 

‘‘Suppose you were in love with a woman- 
married to her, say — and you found one morning 
that she was a shade less good looking than the 
day before, would you, on that account, cut the 
throat of the mother of your children and the com- 
panion of your life ? ” 

“ The manner of your question involves a logical 
contradiction,” answered Linden. “You are put- 
ting her mere physical beauty against her mater- 
nity and wifehood — ^her body against her soul. No; 
but if I saw that motherhood had ceased to be a 
supreme joy to her, and that wifehood had begun 
to lose its glory and sanctity, I should think it time 
for her to die, whether or not her face and form 
were as beautiful as before.” 

“Before applying your principle, as you call it, 
to other people, you had better test it on your- 
self,” I remarked. “In other cases your reforming 
zeal would be interrupted by the hangman, but if 
you put yourself out of the way nothing more 


136 


StX CENT SAM*S. 



could be done to you than to put your obituary in 
the newspapers. But it seems to me we are talking 
great rubbish. Whatj| 
have you been 
painting lately ? 

^^Come in, 
and 111 show 
you.'' 

We 

approach 
whither 
been inad 
accepted 


were, in fact, 
ing his house, 
our steps had 
vertently leading us. I 
^the invitation willingly. I was in 
the vein to look at his pictures. If he had begun 
to retrograde I might offer him his choice of ways 
to die. I presume Linden kept a servant, though I 
never saw one in his house. He unlocked the door 
and we went upstairs. The lower part of the 
house'was dark and silent. But the opening ofthe 
door of the studio brought us to a glow of light 
and color. Linden was not one of those artists 
who make their studios merely a neutral back- 
ground for their pictures. The room itself was a 
picture — subtle and splendid. It was designed on 
a scheme of color that I will not attempt to 
describe, but its effect was to bring on a gradually 


THE author’s story. 


137 


increasing glow of pleasurable emotion. Colors 
move the heart like music, though on a remoter 
plane. Probably they are visible music, with 
forms, too, of their own. 

There were long drooping draperies, panels of 
oriental tiles, rich monotones of wall, mirrors here 
and there, and singular pieces of furniture. The 
grouping and the light led the eye to the upper 
end of the room where stood the easel, with a pic- 
ture in the frame upon it. A piece of black gauzy 
cloth covered it like a shroud, or like the mystery 
before birth. Linden offered me tobacco and 
whisky, and paced about the room, smoking a 
pipe. For several minutes he was taciturn and 
abstracted. 

“Are you awaiting inspiration? I asked, at 
length. 

“Inspiration is to take your life in your hand,^^ 
said he. “It^s as dangerous as standing on a prec- 
ipice in the dark. If it^s complete, you know, over 
you go!” 

“I donT quite catch your idea. IsnT inspira- 
tion what weTe all after? ” 

“A long way after,” said Linden, whose efforts 
at humor were as lightsome and felicitous as the 
waltzing of elephants. “ I^m talkingff om my own 


138 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


standpoint. A full inspiration is transfiguration 
— man becomes God. If the result be perfect — a 
perfect work, that he recognizes as such — it^s the 
end of him. He can never get beyond it; he can 
never even equal it, for to the individual only one 
true creation is possible. In other words, he has 
passed his apogee, and the end is come.^’ 

^^Oh, I see! His best picture is his death war- 
rant?^’ 

‘Ht^s just that.’^ 

Well, have you painted yours yet ? 

Instead of answering me. Linden went up to 
the easel and pulled off the veil. Then, without 
glancing at the canvass, he took his seat in a chair, 
with his back toward the picture and his face 
toward me. 

Why, thaGs the very girl 1 ” was my first excla- 
mation. 

‘‘What the devil do you mean by that?” 
demanded Linden, slowly. 

I had been surprised into the statement and now 
regretted having made it. But it was too late to 
recede. “I passed her half an hour ago on the ave- 
nue. Just before I met her she had spoken to you. 
So she is your model ? She is worth immortaliz- 
ing, and I donT know but youVe done it.” 


THE author’s story. 


139 


A curious chance ! he muttered. That comes 
of gadding about. Yes, she is the basis of that 
picture ; but no one but you and I and she thinks 
it. And so you think IVe done it, do you? Well, 
it was sure to come sooner or later ! 

‘‘Who is she? I asked. 

“She is the picture. That’s all you or anybody 
else is ever likely to know.” 

The picture showed a girl, all but a woman, 
seated in a broad cushioned chair with a back- 
ground of warm obscurity. She leaned on her left 
elbow; the finger tips of the other hand rested lightly 
on her right breast. Her air was profoundly 
abstracted ; the eyes looked on yours without see- 
ing you. Her hair fell voluminously behind her 
shoulders. The upper part of the figure was nude ; 
across her knees a mantle was thrown. A touch 
more would have made the picture voluptuous to 
the point of sensuality. But the power of the 
artist was shown in his forbearance. The girl, for 
all the sumptuousness of her beauty, was maiden- 
hood incarnate. All life was in her potency, but 
she was pure of all experience. Formed though she 
was for love and passion, she had never known 
their approach. She was a stranger to that for 


140 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


which she was created. She knew not even that 
she was beautiful. 

And yet what thought was it, in the depths of 
her shadowy eyes, that withdrew her to such 
remote regions of meditation ? What mystery was 
she trying to solve? Was she aware of an insuffi- 
ciency that she could not name ? Did she fancy the 
defect was in her own nature, or that she was to 
find its remedy elsewhere ? No one can fathom the 
mysteries of a girFs soul, nor can she herself give 
them expression. To touch them is to annihilate 
them. We may recognize their presence and know 
their absence, but what they are we can never 
know. What is love before love begins ? 

‘Wou have painted more than your eyes saw,’’ I 
remarked, after a silence. ^‘No girl of our era will 
be like that. It’s an ideal — what might be, but is 
not.” 

‘‘No; she is just that,” Linden replied. “All I 
have done is to choose the mood and the woman. 
I call it ‘The Day Before Love.’ I don’t say such 
a creature is common, in this age or in any other ; 
she may be unique. But there she is, safe as long 
as the canvass holds together.” He turned and 
looked at it as he spoke. His face, at first gloomy, 
gradually lighted up with a rapt, exalted expres- 


1'HE author’s story. 


141 


Sion. ‘^No greater picture was ever painted/^ he 
said in an undertone, and then, more audibly, ^‘It 
is the greatest ! ” 

“It is good,^^ said I. “You have done worse, 
and you may do better.” 

“I wish your criticism was worth anything,” he 
replied quietly. “The time may come when you 
can see what is now hidden from you. Taking you 
at your own highest valuation, I can only say you 
might grow up to this picture. You can never 
grow beyond it.” 

“If you don’t die of perfection, you^ll die of con- 
ceit, my boy,” I said, scornfully. “Who ever 
heard of such a fuss over a portrait of one^s favor- 
ite model ? Where did you find her, by the way ? 
She^s an exotic, isn’t she? ” 

“Nobody will ever know who she is, or what. 
She is there,” pointing to the canvas, “and 
nowhere else. For that she was born, and having 
been the means of producing that, through me, she 
disappears. That’s all.” 

This absurd posing, as I regarded it, provoked 
me. “I think you exaggerate,” I said. “It was 
strongly borne in on me on the avenue just now 
that this young lady was in love with you, and 
from the ardor with which you have evidently 


142 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


painted her portrait I should not be surprised to 
hear that you were in love with her. ‘The Day 
Before Love’ you call it. I call it ‘The Day 
After.’ ” 

“If you wish us to remain friends you’ll stop 
there ! ” 

“Don’t be such a donkey, Linden, I believe you 
are cracked. The first symptom of paresis is inor- 
dinate self-conceit. You are a clever painter, but I 
know a dozen as good or better. You over-esti- 
mate that picture because you are gone on the girl. 
I dare say she’s a good girl, but she’s a model 
after all. If other painters haven’t had her before 
you, they will hereafter. You live so much to 
yourself that you’ve lost all sense of proportion. 
She’s no goddess and isn’t going to disappear. 
She’s too good looking for that. I only hope she 
may get comfortably married and have children as 
pretty as she is.” 

“Your hopes may go for what they are worth,” 
returned Linden, with an odd smile. “You mean 
well, perhaps, but I did wrong to bring you here. 
You must pardon my saying that I will be busy 
the rest of the day, and must be alone. The pic- 
ture requires one more sitting, you see, and then 
all will be finished.” 


THE author’s story. 


143 


‘‘All rigtit/’ said I, getting up. “When I see you 
next I trust youll be in a more reasonable state of 
mind.^’ 

“It^s possible/’ said he, and then he accom- 
panied me down to the street door, and I heard 
him lock it after me. 

Thinking over the matter, I regretted having 
lost my temper; but I believed that it would do 
Linden good to have heard some plain language. 
He had, seriously, painted a wonderful picture — a 
grand work of art. It was his masterpiece, no 
doubt, and the model was worthy of the renown 
it would reflect upon him. But he was behaving 
ridiculously, nevertheless, and deserved a little 
snubbing. 

This was Sunday. On Monday I went about my 
affairs and Linden and his picture went out of my 
mind. On Tuesday the papers were full of his 
name, and, after reading the reports with groans 
of grief and horror, I hurried to his house to do 
whatever I could do in the circumstances. 

It was thought at first to have been a case of 
double suicide, but this I never believed. Linden 
killed himself, but he killed the girl first. Whether 
he had given her warning of his purpose can never 
be certainly known. I don’t believe he did, for 


SLX CENT SAM*S. 


14?4f 

there were no signs of a struggle, and she was not 
a woman to die complacently. She was found 
careftilly laid out on a divan in the embrasure of 
the eastern window. But she had been murdered 
on the cushioned seat where she had been posing 
for the picture, and the blow had been struck una- 
wares and was immediately fatal. It was with a 
weapon scarcely thicker than a knitting needle, 
and had pierced the heart obliquely, leaving on the 
skin beneath the left breast only a small blue mark, 
not noticeable at a first glance. The dead girbs 
face was quiet and happy in expression, and more 
beautiful, if possible, than in life. It was a trans- 
figured face: the reflection of a pure, virgin spirit. 
The face of the portrait seemed to ponder over a 
mystery. The face of the dead was that of clear 
vision. It looked not into a mystery, but out of a 
mystery that was even greater. 


Linden had not slain himself in the same manner. 
After laying out the girl he had stood in front of 



the portrait and sent a bullet through the center 


THE author’s story. 


145 


of his brain. His body was found face down on 
the floor, the revolver in his hand. 

What had been his motive for committing these 
crimes ? There was much speculation on the sub- 
ject. Some said it was jealousy ; some that it was 
insanity. That he was insane, indeed, I have no 
doubt; but there was method in his madness. My 
talk with him on the last day of his life gave me a 
clue possessed by no one else. The incarnation oi 
perfect maidenhood should remain immaculate. 
The girl — whose name and origin were never dis- 
covered — had reached the fulness of a spiritual 
state, and he had resolved she should never go 
beyond it. She should die. The type of maidens 
fit for love, but innocent of love’s embrace. She 
should die, but, through the picture, she should be 
immortal. Death consecrated both her and it. 

Linden killed himself because he believed that his 

highest work had been done. He could never paint 

again as he had painted then, and he would not 

live to be tempted to fall below that standard. On 

his own theory, he was already dead as to the 

power that gave him the right to live. But there 

is another question that I have often asked myself, 

but cannot answer. Did Linden love the girl ? Did 

she love — or was she ready to love him ? If so, no 
10 


146 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


common tragedy was consummated on the day 
they died. It was death for an ideal, and some- 
thing more — an act of self-abnegation seldom 
paralleled. 

* * * 

The story being ended, ‘‘Well,” remarked a 
ruddy faced, full bodied individual, with a bald 
head and a white neck-scarf, in which was stuck a 
pin of antique and curious workmanship, “Well, 
if the gentleman’s friend hadn’t killed himself, and 
if I had been on the jury that tried him, I should 
have been inclined to vote for hanging him; such 
self-abnegation as is hinted at is too high-strung to 
be encouraged in the materialistic age we live in. 
Now, it may be owing to my avocation, — I am a 
collector of curiosities of all kinds — anything 
really unique, from a live mastodon to a lost book 
of Livy is my game, — it may be, I say, because this 
pursuit of mine brings me into contact with my 
fellow creatures on their least favorable side ; or it 
may be a general fact, I won’t pretend to decide ; 
but at all events, I have not found that self-abne- 
gation is the rule among mankind in the nineteenth 
century. My experience is, that we all want the 
best there is to be had at as much below its value 
as it can be had ; and the other fellows want to 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


14'J 

charge us A 1 prices for Z 26 articles, if I may so 
express myself. My creed may lack novelty; but 
on the score of average experience I’ll back it 
against the next man’s. As an instance in point, I 
will — since yam-spinning is the thing to-night — 
recall a little incident that came to my knowledge 
not long ago, and all I would like to premise 
about it is that, under the name of the leading 
character in the tale, I am not disguising myself. I 
am too wily a bird to be caught by such chaff ; 
though there’s no denying that the chaff was very 
good of its kind.” 

Hereupon, at a nod from Sam, the round-bodied 
gentleman pulled down his waistcoat and launched 
into the exciting narrative given below ; 


148 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


virtuoso’s story. 

‘hrogmorton HAGGETT 

^ lean, gray haired, 
high featured gentleman, 
sixty -three years old. He had 
one ambition and one regret. 
The ambition beset him by day 
and night. He meditated upon 
it in his waking hours. In his 
sleep it often formed the tissue of 
his dreams. These dreams uni- 
formly depicted a successful issue 
to his desires ; but, as a matter of 
fact they had never been real- 
ized. He hated to wake up in 
the morning, because he knew 
he would awake to disappointment ; and he hated 
to fall asleep at night, because he knew he would 
become the victim of deceiving visions. Thus he 
was never at ease. The only thing to be done 
was to labor diligently to find evidence for his 
theory, and this labor had gradually become the 
controlling aim of his existence. Being wealthy 
and a bachelor, he was able to use his time as he 





THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


149 


pleased, and this was the way in which it pleased 
him to use it. 

As for the theory, or the ambition, — for thej? 
amounted to the same thing, — it possessed many 
theoretical merits, the chief one lacking being that 
of novelty. Mr. Haggett would have preferred 
that it should possess this also; but he consoled 
himself with the reflection that, if he could only 
vindicate it, he would enjoy two triumphs: first 
the vindication; and secondly, that he would have 
been the first to succeed of many who had tried. 
His name would be rendered immortal. Only there 
was the ^^if’M 

The theory was, that Bacon was the author of 

Shakespeare.’^ Mr. Haggett had familiarized 
himself with all the extant controversial literature 
on the subject, beginning with Miss Delia Bacon’s 
‘^The Philosophy of Shakespeare’s Plays Unfolded, ’ ’ 
and coming down to the ingenious analysis of a 
recent American student. He had, besides, copies 
of the various original editions of the plays, and of 
every work that bore in any way upon either 
Shakespeare or Bacon. He had secured photo- 
graphic copies of Baconian letters and manuscripts 
of various dates, and of all Shakespeare’s alleged 
signatures. The entire history of the Elizabethan 


150 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


period was at his fingers’ ends. He had even got- 
ten so far as to determine exactly what it was he 
was looking for in the way of conclnsive evidence. 
More than once he had imparted this to one of his 
very few friends and confidants, a certain vendor 
of second-hand books, by the name of Philemon 
Inkpenny & Co. 

^‘it stands to reason, Philemon,” he would say, 
^‘that negotiations must have been carried on 
between Lord Verulam and Shakespeare regarding 
this matter. As a rule, no doubt, these negotia- 
tions would be by personal interview. But occa- 
sionally they must have been conducted by corre- 
spondence ; and although, as a measure of precau- 
tion, there would have been an understanding that 
this correspondence should be destroyed, yet the 
doctrine of chances warrants us in the belief that 
some fragments of it have survived. And over and 
above that, Philemon, it is to be remembered that 
a man of Shakespeare’s low and tricky character 
would have been most apt to preserve some 
written evidence of Bacon’s authorship, to be pos- 
sibly used against him for purposes of extortion. 
I am convinced, consequently, that some such 
documentary evidence exists ; ^nd, should life be 
spared me, I will find it,” 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


161 


‘‘Bless me, Mr. Haggett,’’ Philemon would 
reply, cheerfully, “you’re good for thirty years 
yet! And you look to me a man to carry out 
what you undertake, sir.” 

“Well, I thinkyoumay say that without flattery, 
Philemon. Besides, my good friend, — ^though I 
should not say this to everyone, you understand, — 
but it is sometimes borne in on me that I am under 
Providential guidance in this matter. I have had 
dreams, Philemon! The other night, now, I dreamt 
that a strange old man visited me and imparted 
information of consummate value. A very vivid 
dream, that was — more like a vision. I should 
know that old man’s face again at once, were I to 
meet' him.” 

“Which I dare say you will, sir,” responded 
Philemon, as he finished inserting a title page into 
a first edition of Reynolds’ “ God’s Revenge against 
the Crying and Execrable Sin of Murther,” from 
which it had been missing. “And you might, as 
like as not, find what you want hid between the 
leaves of just some such old volume as this, sir.” 

“Yes, it may be so, Philemon,” returned Throg- 
morton Haggett, his gaunt cheeks flushing and his 
small gray eyes glinting. “ But, come what may, 
the individual who afibrds me such hints or assist- 


152 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


ance as shall directly result in my discovering the 
evidence in question will receive a pecuniary 
acknowledgment in the form of my check for ten 
thousand dollars ! But do n^t mention that, Phile- 
mon,’^ added Mr. Haggett, adjusting his specta- 
cles and regarding the bookseller with some 
anxiety. should be overrun with cranks and 
adventurers, you know.” 

‘^To be sure, to be sure,” said Philemon Ink- 
penny. ^^And ten thousand dollars — thatisasum of 
money ! It is a sum of money, Mr. Haggett ! ” 

How happened it that Mr. Haggett, rich though 
he was, should have been moved to set 
apart what Philemon rightly termed 
“a sum of money” to such a purpose, 
especially since he was not by nature 
of a gushing and giving dispo- 
sition ? The phenomenon 
arose from the regret which 
we referred to at the open- 
ing of this nar- 
rative. 


Throgmorton 
Haggett had for- 
merly been young; and, while 
in that relatively defenseless condition, he had fal- 



THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


153 


len in love with. Dorothy Haselfoot. The vicissi- 
tudes of that passion cannot be recounted here. 
All was going on well, and Dorothy was look- 
ing forward with a chastened joy to becoming 
Mrs. Haggett. But there was another young man 
about — an artist, Gabriel Hastings. He- and 
Throgmorton had been friends since their school 
days. He conceived a purely artistic regard for 
Dorothy, who was a comely maiden; and, at 
Throgmorton^s own suggestion, he undertook to 
paint her portrait. While the portrait was in prog- 
ress, however, the demon of jealousy entered 
Throgmorton’s soul. There was no more warrant 
for it than existed in the famous case of Othello vs. 
Othello, Cassio co-respondent. It resulted in 
unpleasant scenes, however, and finally in the rup- 
ture of the engagement. Throgmorton, who had 
already presented his intended with a piece of real 
estate valued at ten thousand dollars, gave her a 
very broad hint that circumstances alter cases. 
She, in pursuance of Ophelia’s theory that rich gifts 
seem poor when givers prove unkind, promptly 
handed him back the title deed. A year later, she 
and Gabriel were married — a union of mutual 
esteem, and perhaps also, on Gabriel’s part, of a 
romantic sense of honor. They had a daughter 


154 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


Edith, but no other stroke of good fortune ; and, 
having been poor to start with, they rapidly 
became more so. Gabriel died. His widow, at 
the end of her resources, humbled her pride for the 
sake of her daughter, and applied to her former 
lover for help. He had, meanwhile, sold the piece 
of real estate for fifteen thousand dollars. Never- 
theless, he refused Dorothy’s request, in a letter of 
which few high-minded gentlemen would have 
wished to be known as the author. Dorothy died, 
and Edith disappeared. As years went by, and 
Throgmorton Haggett grew richer and richer and 
more and more lonely, the regret above mentioned 
began to haunt him. He wished he had not 
recalled that gift of ten thousand dollars. He even 
advertised for Edith, with a view to making resti- 
tution ; but nothing came of that. The ten thou- 
sand dollars lay heavy on his conscience. At last, 
to ease the weight, he actually deposited that sum 
in the bank, with a view to disposing of it accord- 
ing to the contingency he stated to Philemon Ink- 
penny. Of course, it was possible that the contin- 
gency might not arise; but what more could he 
do ? And meanwhile he was drawing interest on 
the sum, just the same. 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


155 


One morning, while Mr. Haggett was in his 
study, critically comparing a paragraph in Bacon’s 
^‘Advancement of Learning,” concerning the 
impropriety of putting young men to the study of 
moral philosophy, with a somewhat parallel pas- 
sage in “Troilus and Cressida,” Act II, scene 2, a 
servant knocked at the door and informed him 
that there was an elderly party who wished to 
know if he might see him on a matter of business. 

The party was admitted. 
He was a venerable individual, 
about seventy years of age 
apparently, decently but 
poorly clad, and carrying 
under his arm a bundle tidily 
done up in an old newspaper. He performed a cer- 
emonious obeisance, and spoke as follows : 

“Mr. Haggett, I hope the object of my intrusion 
may excuse my intruding. My name is Christo- 
pher Crumblehorne. I have been a student, like 
yourself ; but I am poor. During my life, I have 
collected a good many books, — old books, Mr. 
Haggett, — including some rare early editions of the 
Elizabethan poets. I am informed that you are 
interested in Shakespearian researches. I have 
here” — he had been undoing his bundle as he 



156 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


Spoke, and now produced an antique and worm- 
eaten volume bound in brown leather — ‘‘a copy of 
plays by Christopher Marlowe, dated, as you see, 
1611. As you are aware, Marlowe is reputed to 
have collaborated on certain of the plays ascribed 
to Shakespeare.^’ 

All this while, Haggett had been staring at his 
visitor as if he were a phoenix, a spectre, or some 
other improbable phenomenon. The longer he 
stared, the more amazed and bewildered did he 
appear. Well, it is certainly not often that one has 
better cause to be surprised ; for this old gentleman 
presented neither more nor less than the living 
counterpart of the personage whom Mr. Haggett 
had beheld in his dream, as related to Philemon 
Inkpenny ! Was the rest of the vision, then, to be 
confirmed? He took the book with a trembling 
hand. He turned over the leaves mechanically, 
hardly aware of what he was doing. The volume 
was not in very good condition. Here and there, 
passages were interlined in faded ink. Its original 
owner had evidently read it thoroughly; and with 
critical if not sympathetic interest. Still it was 
not obvious how any enlightenment could proceed 
from it as to the true authorship of Shakespeare’s 
dramas. Mr. Haggett overcame his agitation 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


157 


sufficiently to make some remark to this effect to 
Mr. Christopher Crumblehorne. 

‘‘Possibly,” the latter replied, “but have you 
carefully examined the title page? ” 

Mr. Haggett turned to it. At first, he glanced 
at it carelessly. After a moment, he started and 
his face became red. He stole a strange look at 
his visitor. He snatched off his spectacles, rubbed 
them, and looked again. Anon, he laid the book 
on the table, reached for a huge magnifying-glass, 
and studied the page intently. Finally, he laid 
down the glass, leaned back in his chair, and con- 
templated Mr. Crumblehorne several moments in 
silence. 

“May I ask, sir, how you obtained this vol- 
ume?” he inquired, at length. 

“At a second-handbook-shop in London, just off 
the Strand, in 1856,” replied the other, com- 
posedly. “I thought it might interest you.” 

“A signature of William Shakespeare's !” mut- 
tered Mr. Haggett. “ Why, it's an historical event ! 
And this book was his ! But it can't be ! Can it 
be genuine ? ” 

“I have gradually arrived at that conviction 
during the four-and-thirty years that it has been 
in my possession,” answered the old gentleman. 


158 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


have here,’’ he added, noted down some of the 
reasons that go to confirm me in my opinion. A 
glance at them will put you in possession of my 
train of argument. Pray take your own time.” 

He handed the other several closely written 
pages of blue note-paper. Mr. Haggett perused 
them with absorbed attention. After ten or fifteen 
minutes, he raised his head and passed a hand over 
his forehead. 

‘‘And do I understand that you wish to dispose 
of this booh, sir?” he said, in a slightly tremulous 
voice. “What value do you put upon it?” 

“I sell it reluctantly,” replied the old man, 
“because I am old and need money to support life. 
My price for it is one hundred dollars.” 

Mr. Haggett concealed his emotions by a violent 
effort. He had expected to have to pay at least a 
thousand. After a pause, he faltered out: 

“I might give you fifty.” 

Mr. Crumblehorne rose. “I cannot accept it,” 
he said, with a sigh. “I named my lowest figure. 
If you cannot afford it, I must try elsewhere.” 
And he put forth his aged hand and laid it upon 
the book. 

“Well, well,” said Mr. Haggett, hastily, “after 
all, I may as well stretch a point. It is an extray- 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


159 


agance; but, to a brother student — I will write 
you a check. But — a hundred dollars! Suppose 
we say seventy-five ? 

The old man shook his head. ‘‘A hundred or 
nothing.’’ 

Mr. Haggett wrote the check. Mr. Crumblehorne 
pocketed it in a serene, methodical manner, bowed 
and withdrew. Mr. Haggett spent the rest of the 
day hanging over his treasure. That evening, he 
received a letter that agitated him on other 
grounds. It was signed Edith Hastings— the long 
lost daughter of his old love. It recounted the 
leading facts of her history since her mother’s death. 
She had, it appeared, developed a fine soprano 
voice, and had found a patron who defrayed the 
expense of training it. She had sung with success 
in concert in England and on the Continent, and 
was now in America with a snug little fortune. 
She had accidentally learned that her mother’s old 
friend — so she called him — ^was living in Philadel- 
phia, and would do herself the pleasure of calling 
on him. She appointed the next day for her visit. 

She came, saw, and conquered Throgmorton 
Haggett. And well she might, for she was a young 
woman of beauty, talent, and vivacity. More- 
over, she soon conceived a most flattering regard 


160 


CSKt SAM^S. 


for the elderly student, and showed an intelligent 
interest in his pursuits. He presently insisted 
upon her and her maid^s taking up their abode in 
his home. Before she had been there a week he had 
intimated to her that, if she would remain per- 
manently his guest and give up her public career, 
he would make her his heiress. She did not give an 
unconditional assent to this proposition, for it was 
easy to see that the applause of audiences had 
become dear to her; but neither did she absolutely 
refuse. Meanwhile, she staid on. She entered 
into all Mr. Haggett^s ways of life. She helped 
him in his investigations. She encouraged him to 
persevere. He had never in his life been so happy. 
His conscience was at ease. His hopes were 
brightened. He began to feel a young man again. 
Nay, he even began to ask himself, whether a well- 
preserved and wealthy gentleman of sixty-three 
might not with success propose a matrimonial 
alliance with a gifted and charming young lady of 
five-and-twenty ! 

“Have you noticed, mon she said, “that 

there is something odd about the binding of this 
book?^^ 

She was sitting in the easy-chair in the embra- 
sure of the study window, dressed in an adorable 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


161 


neglige. Her bare, polisbed arms emerged from 


the half sleeves ; 
revealed ,c-' 


^^her white throat was fully 
with the delicate necklace of 
^carved coral round it, the 
gift of her devoted 
Throgmorton; one 
knee was thrown over 
other, causing the 
fled hem of her 
coat to dis- 
a tapering 
ankle and 
foot shod in a high- 
French slipper. In her 
fragrant lap was the old volume of Marlowe^s 
plays. 

The scholar rose from his desk and came over to 
her, glad of a pretext to be in contact with her 
dainty loveliness. He placed a chair close to her 
own, adjusted his spectacles, and bent over her. 
‘‘And what is there odd about the binding, my 
dear ? ” he said, tenderly. 

'“Why, see: this paper that is pasted on the 
inside of the back cover is cracked all along the 
inside edge. And look: the cover seems to be 
double, as if there were a sort of pocket in it, such 

XX 




162 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


as one sees inside the lid of a desk. Give me your 
paper-knife — yes, there is a pocket; and I do 
believe — 

Edith broke in Throgmorton, in a high, 
quavering voice, ^Get me — give me — what is this? 
My stars ! has it come at last ? ” 

With hands shaking as with a palsy, he tore out 
the paper lining, he tore open the pocket, he drew 
from it — what? A faded, stained, fragile, 
embrowned fold of letter paper. He began to 
unfold it, but his nerves were too much unstrung. 
^‘You — ^you — he said, faintly, holding it out to 
Edith. 

She opened it deftly with her tapering white 
fingers. 

“What can it be, I wonder? Such a queer old 
handwriting! I^m not sure I can make it out. Let 
me see — ^it begins: ^Gray^slnn,y® MDC^ — oh, 1611 — 
no, that ^s in another line — ^y® Fourth Day of March, 
1611. Goode Master’ — dear me, what is this? 
S-h-a — why, I do believe it is — yes, it is— 
Shakspere I ^Goode Master Shakspere ’ I Oh, is n’t 
this interesting? ” 

She looked up with a brilliant smile. Mr. 
Haggett was deadly pale. “It has come!” he 
murmured, with dry lips. “My dream is fulfilled; 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


163 


m j reputation is secure forever ! Give it to me ; I 
can read it now. Yes, here is the signature — ‘Fr. 
Bacon.’ A letter to William Shakespeare from 
Francis Bacon! Edith, I am the most famous 
man in the civilized world to-day. Yes, yes, yes I 
Listen to this : 

“ ‘Gray’s Inn, y® Fourth Day of March, 1611. 

“ ‘Goode Master Shakspere My health hath been suche 
this past Spring, as that I did nigh despaireof compassing ye 
Work, the whiche is herewith incloased. Briefly, I commend 
myself to your Love, and that you shall with all proper dilli- 
gence make me a fair coppy thereof, after y® samemaneras 
alwaies heretofore. Concerning y® name or title of this 
present Drama, I doe find myself in some debate ; yet methinks 
that of “Othello” will serve as well as another, albeit “Des- 
demona” likewise hath a faire sounde. Yet will I declare for 
y® first. So, with affection for your past services, and desiring 
you toe be goodeto alle concealed Poets, I continue your verie 
greatful, ‘ Fr. Bacok.’” 

After finishing the letter Throgmorton Haggett 
folded it gently up again and laid it reverently on 
the table. Edith,” he said, solemnly, ‘Hhis is the 
culminating moment of my existence ; it is a turn- 
ing point in the history of the world. After three 
centuries, the truth is at last known, and through 
me I To-morrow all the world will ring with the 
discovery which is yours and mine alone to-day. 
That letter is, beyond all comparison, the most 


164 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


important — the most valuable — document in exis- 
tence. As you perhaps know, ‘Othello,’ accord- 
ing to the most trustworthy indications, was 
written about 1611. Bacon wrote it ; Shakespeare 
copied it ‘without blotting a line, ’ no doubt, as the 
saying was. Edith, my dearest Edith, let me cele- 
brate this triumph by kissing your lovely hand ! ” 

Edith accepted the caress with infinite grace and 
complaisance. “But, mon cher,'^ she said, “is not 
this the book that you bought of that old gentle- 
man with the curious name ? ” 

“Christopher Crumblehorne ? Yes, that is so. I 
paid him his full price for it — one hundred dol- 
lars.” 

“You paid him for the book, mon cher, but not 
for the letter ! And were you not telling me only 
yesterday that you had set aside an immense sum 
of money, ten thousand dollars, for the person who 
should bring you evidence in support of your 
theory ? Surely this Mr. — what was his name ? — 
has done this ; and you are bound to hand him 
over the bequest. Am I not right ? ” 

She laid her soft hand on his and looked up in his 
face. Mr. Haggett’s features had begun to assume 
an embarrassed expression, but, under the influence 
of those glorious eyes, they gradually softened. 


ME YiRTUOSO^S Sl'ORY,^ 


165 


‘‘Edith,” he cried at last, “Edith, I will do it! 
But on one condition: one condition, dearest- 
dearest of women!” 

“And what is that ? ” she asked, sweetly. 

“That you consent to — remember, Edith, that I 
am not only rich as men rate riches, but henceforth 
the equal in distinction of any potentate on earth. 
Edith let this hand which I now hold be mine forever I 
Be my wife I Believe me, that, as Mrs. Throgmorton 
Haggett, you will be the envy and the glory of 
your sex, in renown, as you already are in fact! 
Edith, I might once have been your father; fate 
denied me that; it is for you to compensate that 
loss by permitting me to become your husband! ” 
“Dear Mr. Haggett,” she replied, looking him 
frankly in the face, “I feel your kindness and the 
great honor you offer me, and you have no doubt 
observed that I have regarded you with no ordi- 
nary interest; and yet I am hardly prepared to 
settle the whole future course of my life at a 
momenr’s notice.” She hesitated and looked down. 

“Do not refuse me! ” urged he. “I will make any 
arrangements you wish. Half— two-thirds of my 
fortune shall be yours on my wedding day ! ” 

“It is not your fortune that moves me, mon cher. 
But,” she added, again placing her hand in his, “I 


166 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


will make a stipulation — call it a woman’s whim, 
or say that I wish to test the nobility of soul that 
I am morally convinced is yours. Send this money 
to old Mr. — Mr. — ^you know whom I mean. He is 
old and poor; it will enable him to pass the 
remainder of his days in ease and comfort. Sit 
down now and write the check for him. Enclose it 
to him and give me the letter. I am going out to 
take my morning constitutional with my maid. I 
will put the letter in the registered mail. And 
when I come back, mon cher , — my dear 
Throgmorton — it will be to fix the day on which 
we can be happy ! ” 

There is little left to tell, but that little is not 
unimportant. The check was written. It cost the 
writer a pang, but it was done. Edith, with a 
smile of heavenly promise, put it in her reticule and 
sallied forth with her maid. She was due to return 
at lunch. She did not arrive. The afternoon 
passed. Dinner-time came. Mr. Haggett had 
passed through the stages of anxiety, alarm, mis- 
giving. He was now in a frenzy of panic. The 
servant brought in a note. From her ! 

He tore it open. It is not often that a man has 
the fate to read, in one and the same day, a letter 
from Bacon to Shakespeare and such an epistle as 


THE virtuoso’s STORY. 


167 


this from Edith to her elderly lover. It ran as fol- 
lows: 

Mon cher, we are gone. By *we,’ I mean my husband, 
myself, and your ten thousand dollars. My husband is the 
gentleman known to you as Christopher Crumblehorne. That 
is not his real name; neither is he so old, by some forty years, 
as he appeared to be during your interview with him. He is an 
actor, and has few rivals in his make-up for elderly characters. 
As for me, I am indeed the Edith whose mother you wronged 
and left to starve. I have supported myself by my own tal- 
ents, and I have, with the assistance of my husband, paid off 
an old score on you. This money I hold to 
be rightfully mine ; my conscience will never 
reproach me with the manner in which I 
chose to possess myself of it. You offered 
me half your fortune. I took ten thou- 
sand dollars. We are quits. As to the 
authorship of Shakespeare, I advise you 
to consult an expert before announcing 
3^our discovery to the world. When I 
return, I will be yours. Meanwhile, 
with cordial good wishes, I subscribe 

“Your obliged Edith. ’ * 

It^s all clear enough, except as to that dream of 
Mr. Haggett^s, and that has remained a mystery 
to this day. 

* * * 

The round-bodied gentleman, having finished his 
tale, poured out a glass of wine and drank it, with 
a twinkle in his eye. Sam said : 



168 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


^^That^s a very entertaining story, sir, but it 
strikes me that it disproves the very theory you 
meant to illustrate by it.^’ 

“How so, sir? ” demanded the virtuoso, throw- 
ing one arm over the back of his chair. 

“Because, if it had been so commonplace a thing 
as you pretend for people to plot to get the better 
of one another, your story would have appeared 
commonplace, too ; instead of which we all found 
it quite novel and interesting.” 

“Why, sir, I never heard a more preposterous 
argument,” exclaimed the virtuoso, pulling up his 
collar. 

“You have had your say, sir,” interrupted Sam, 
smiling upon him with a peculiar arch expression ; 
“and unless you yield to the chair, I shall further 
illustrate the emptiness of your theory by telling 
the company who it was that gave the order to fit 
out all the newsboys in New York with a new pair 
of boots.” 

At this the round-bodied gentleman grew crim- 
son, and, in his confusion, attempted to drink out 
of the glass that he had just emptied. Meanwhile, 
Sam turned to a youngish man with short side 
whiskers, who looked like a well-to-do broker, and 
was in fact, I believe, an electrical engineer. 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER'S STORY. 


169 


^^Stippose yon give ns that incident about your 
friend Norton,” said be. 

The youngish man started, and seemed embar- 
rassed ; he murmured something about not being 
aecustomed to addressing a general audienee ; but 
as Sam showed no symptoms of an inclination to 
let him off, he cleared his throat nervously, and 
began in these words : 

THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 

T was Norton himself who told me 
the story. Norton, as you know, 
is a physician and a specialist in 
nervous and mental diseases. 
His cast of mind is skeptical, or 
at least severely logical. I am 
sure that he would have discred- 
ited the thing if anybody had 
told it to him. Indeed, it is doubt- 
ful if he altogether accepts it even as it is. He 
cannot explain it, and he is accustomed to 
reject whatever he cannot explain. Nevertheless, 
since it happened to himself he is in a dilemma. A 
man in a normal condition of health and mind hes- 
itates to disbelieve the testimony of his own senses. 



170 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


Hallucinations are, of course, the result of some 
functional derangement. But when an impossible 
things happens, what are you to do? Mind, I 
say when it does happen in your own experience. 
You are precluded on the one hand, from denying 
that it did happen ; while on the other, an impos- 
sibility is always an impossibility. 

Norton, I fancy, habitually avoids thinking of 
the matter at all. He is in an attitude of ^‘sus- 
pended judgment.’’ If some discovery, psycholog- 
ical or physiological, were to turn up, throwing 
light upon the subject, I daresay he would take up 
the Trafford affair with scientific enthusiasm, and 
make it the theme of a learned disquisition. But 
meantime he lets it lie as something there is no 
use in puzzling over. He gave the narrative to me 
one evening in the freedom of an intercourse which 
began when we were boys in college together, more 
than a quarter of a century ago, and has continued 
ever since. I am rather fond of a good ghost 
story, and have told more than one in my time, 
and Norton has smiled indulgently at them. But 
nothing that I ever imagined is stranger than this 
which he experienced. He has the advantage of 
me, and I take off my hat to him. 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S toTOKx. 


171 


You are at liberty to make whatever use you 
like of the hypnotic theory. Norton was one of 
the first physicians in New York to take up hyp- 
notic experiments with a view to applying the 
principle in his practice. He is a first-rate opera- 
tor; he has hypnotized hundreds of persons. He 
found the effects good in several kinds of affections, 
but he seldom employs the treatment now for the 
reason (as I understand it) that he has never been 
able to satisfy himself just how, or in what cases 
it succeeds; and whether it may not be followed 
by remote consequences more or less undesirable. 
But at the time of the Trafford episode he was still 
in the midst of his researches, and she herself was 
frequently hypnotized by him. 

I do not know precisely what her disorder was ; 
at all events, it confined her to her bed ; and Nor- 
ton had little expectation of curing her. She could 
neither walk nor stand, and she occasionally suf- 
fered severe pain. She was, Norton said, a very 
interesting girl, and it was the greatest pity in the 
world that she should be a helpless invalid. Her 
mind was no common one. She had not had much 
personal experience of the world, for she had been 
‘^out” only two or three years when she was 
taken ill ; but during her illness she had speculated 


172 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


deeply and boldly about life, and about wbat may 
follow death. 

^‘She had the most logical brain I ever met with 
in one of her sex,’’ observed Norton; ‘‘and I am 
not one to underrate women, either. Some of the 
results at which she arrived were startling, but it 
was hard to find a flaw in her method of reasoning. 
One of her ideas was that, assuming the existence 
of a spirit in man, there is no a priori reason why 
it should not become visible outside of the body, or 
even after bodily dissolution. On the contrary, it 
was surprising that this did not occur constantly. 
The spirit is the mind ; why should not the mind 
disembodied be perceptible to the mind embodied ? 
The physical eye does not see — it is only the medium 
of sight ; and it is only material objects that are 
visible through that medium. But why may not 
the real eye act without the intervention of this 
medium, and take cognizance of things on its own 
plane of being ? I objected that there might be 
nothing for it to take cognizance of; if embodi- 
ment meant anything, it meant that the spirit was 
not ‘on its own plane,’ and could not, therefore, 
be reached by the ‘real eye.’ She replied that 
hypnotism indicated that the mind could be tem- 
porarily dissociated from the body, and justified 


THE ELECTRICAE ENGINEER’S STORY. 


173 


the proposition that a means might exist, or be 
discovered, to produce this dissociation at one’s 
own pleasure. She added (what is quite true) that 
we fail to see a great many things because we 
don’t look for them, or expect them. The train- 
ing of the will in this direction might have results. 

She said one thing that was curious; I don’t 
remember having heard it elsewhere. She said 
that after emerging from the hypnotic trance, she 
had no knowledge or recollection of what she had 
done or said, as to her physical manifestations, 
while the trance lasted . But she did often have a 
recollection, more or less obscure, of having under- 
gone experiences altogether outside of the physical 
plane. In other words, the life that animated her 
body during the trance was something distinct from 
the metaphysical ego; the latter was free, and 
rambled about, so to speak, on its own hook. She 
was annoyed that she could recall so little of her 
ego^s excursion s ; she accounted for it on the hypoth- 
esis that, in the normal state, only the physical 
memory was operative. But she had hopes that 
by practice, or will, she would finally be able to 
compel the ego to render an account of itself. 
There was something uncanny about the whole 
idea; but it had a fascination.” 


174 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


Norton talked about the fascination of her ideas; 
but I think she exercised over him a warmer fasci- 
nation than belongs to the intellect alone. In fact 
he admitted that she was a beautiful woman, and 
their relations, necessarily intimate, were enlarged 
and beautified by mutual confidence. She had 
everything that wealth could give ; but the con- 
viction that her health could never be restored 
must have made her sensible of the irony of fate. 
She could not well have helped feeling a more than 
common affection for Norton; as her physician, he 
was doing for her all that science could do ; but he 
was personally, when he so chose, one of the most 
winning men I ever knew. He had profound expe- 
rience of the worth, humor, insight and various 
charm of talk. He is a bachelor, and, being now 
forty-five years old, is likely to remain one. But if 
Sybil Trafford had lived I am disposed to believe 
that he would have been a married man and hap- 
pier than he is now. 

Norton had a strong bent toward scientific 
investigation, aside from the direct line of his pro- 
fession. He studied electricity deeply, and made 
many improvements in the electrical transmission 
of messages and sounds, which will come into use 
when certain existing patent-monopolies have 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 


175 


expired. But tHe most attractive to the imagina- 
tion of his ideas was that of freeing diamonds from 
discoloration — ^thatis to say, transforming inferior 
stones into gems of the first water. He believed 
that the discoloration was caused by the presence 
of iron at the moment of crystallization, and 
he devised a process by which this tint could be 
expelled, or concentrated in one corner of the 
stone, which could then be filed off. But this pro- 
cess could be rendered certain and practical only 
by a long and careful course of experimentation, 
involving great expense and consuming an indefi- 
nitely long time. He was unwilling to neglect his 
profession for the sake of even so promising an 
enterprise as this. Besides, he was interested in the 
scientific more than in the commercial part of the 
matter ; he had no need of money, and no one was 
dependent on him. One day, however, a circum- 
stance caused him to reconsider the question. 

Sybil Trafford had been made the confidant of 
the diamond theory, as, I suppose, she was of most 
of his affairs ; and one day, during his visit to her, 
she had her jewel-box brought in, and showed him 
a large stone, weighing, in its rough state, some 
sixty or seventy carats, but which was of a dark 
jrelloyr hue, and therefore of comparatively slight 


176 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


value. In other respects it was a fine crystal, and 
its shape was such that it might be cut as a bril- 
liant without great loss of weight. Had it been 



wear it as the pendant to my necklace.^’ She 
smiled as she said it; and he smiled, too, but 
sadly; for they both knew that it would be far 
easier to put light into the diamond than to put 
strength and life into her. 

wish,’’ he remarked, “that you were a 
diamond.” 

“What would you do with me? ” 

“I would have a ring made and set you in it.” 

“And what would you do with the ring? ” 


“Wear it as long as I lived/’ 

“And what then?” 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 


177 


‘‘Be buried with it, I suppose/^ 

“I think it^s better as it is,” said she, smiling 
again. “Diamonds have no souls. After you were 
buried — ages after — some one would come and 
pick me out of the mold and appropriate me. But 
I have a soul, and some day or other you and I 
will meet, and there will be no talk of burying.” 

Norton took the diamond home with him, and a 
few days after he subjected it to his process, though 
without any particular expectation of a successful 
result. He tried first one proportion and then 
another, and tested it with various degrees of mag- 
netic force, but neglected to take due note of the 
steps of his procedure. 

In the midst of his work he was called away, 
and left the stone in position. It was not until 
the next day that he remembered it. On going to 
examine it, he found that it had become pure white 
save for a black spot at one end, not much bigger 
than the head of a pin. The correctness of his 
theory was established; but, thanks to his care- 
lessness, he did not know how it had been accom- 
plished, and could not, therefore, reproduce the 
result. This was annoying; but there, neverthe- 
less, was Sybihs diamond as brilliant and faultless 

as the Kohinoor itself. He ground away the 
12 


178 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


black spot, and carried the gem back to his patient 
the same afternoon. 

‘‘I have cured it,^^ said he, ‘^and now you must 
get well, too.’^ 

‘‘How did you do it ? she asked, after admiring 
the transformation. 

“I don^t know. Probably that is the only suc- 
cessful attempt I shall ever make.” 

“No, you ought to find it out,” she replied. “If 
you had invented a way of making diamonds I 
should not wish you to practice it, for then their 
preciousness would be destroyed. But it seems 
only right that sick diamonds should be made well; 
it is more in the way of your profession, too ! ” 

It so happened that a week or two later Norton 
was consulted by a man by the name of Scara- 
manga, who was suffering from insomnia. He 
was a Hollander, of Spanish or Portuguese 
descent, and an odd sort of personage. His height 
was extraordinary, owing to the disproportion- 
ate length of his legs, but he was narrow shouldered 
and reedy of figure, and his head was small enough 
for a boy of ten. It was adorned, however, with 
an abundant thatch of coal-back hair; his eye- 
brows were bushy, his nose prominent, and his 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER'S STORY. 


179 


mustache and goatee were as fierce as those of Don 
Quixote himself. 

Mr. Scaramanga was a voluble talker, and it 
presently transpired that he was learned on the 
subject of precious stones, 
and had turned his knowl- 
edge to commercial advan- 
tage. He was, in fact, by 
his own account, agent for 
a large firm of jewelers in 
Antwerp. He talked in a 
large and grandiloquent 
vein, and entertained Nor- 
ton not a little, for the 
latter was fond of a highly 
flavored character, and had 
a good sense of humor. 

But at length Scaramanga 
chanced to say that he had 
an invention for improving 
the water of off color stones 
and then Norton became 
curious. He asked him how 
he did it. Scaramanga re- 
plied by shaking his head 
and laying his long forefinger craftily beside his nose. 



180 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


is wortli a million dollars a year to know 
that/’ quoth he. ^‘Do you wish to buy the secret 
of me ? Well, for ten millions I sell him ! ” 
“Fiddlestick! ” exclaimed Norton, with a laugh. 
“If you have really discovered the process, of 
course you’ve patented it, and so might disclose it 
without fear. But I don’t believe you know any- 
thing about it. There is only oneway of doing the 
thing, and I have reason to think that no one but 
myself knows what that is.” 

“You!” exclaimed the other, changing counte- 
nance. “Pardon me, sir, but how shall a doctor 
know anything about diamonds? ” 

“Doctors know everything in this country. It 
Is not many days since I turned a sixty-carat 
brown stone as white as a water-drop in the sun- 
shine.” 

This led to a conversation, whereby two things 
were elicited ; first, that Scaramanga really had no 
knowledge of the secret of which he had boasted ; 
and, secondly, that he was consumedly anxious to 
learn what Norton’s process was. But on that 
point Norton declined to be communicative. 
Finally Scaramanga made a business proposition. 
If Norton would agree to perfect his method of 
treatment, and take out a patent for it, 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 


181 


Scaramanga would bring a certain capitalist and 
friend of bis, Wimbusb byname, who would putup 
any required amount of money. The three would 
form themselves into a company for the purifica- 
tion of gems, Wimbush and Scaramanga paying 
all the expenses and doing all the work ; while all 
that would be required of Norton would be to 
accept fifty-one per cent of the stock, and to draw 
his receipts therefrom. 

This seemed a fair enough offer, and Norton con- 
sented to take it under consideration. He was in 
no need of money ; his practice brought him in a 
large income ; but he knew of many ways in which 
he could apply a great fortune to schemes of value 
and interest to medicine. Scaramanga brought 
Wimbush and introduced him ; abroad, fat, watch- 
ful, taciturn man, who seemed to do a great deal 
of thinking, and who was anything but demon- 
strative. The matter was discussed in numerous 
interviews, and at last a basis of action was 
agreed upon. Norton was to meet Wimbush and 
Scaramanga in Washington on a certain date. 
There, and in their presence, he was to explain 
and illustrate his method. If it turned out to be 
what he claimed, he was to receive one hundred 


182 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


thousand dollars down, and the company would 
be immediately formed and proceed to business. 

On the morning of the day of his departure 
Norton went to see Sybil Trafford. He had already 
mentioned to her his two prospective partners, 
and he now gave her a narrative in detail of what 
had been done, and of what it was proposed to do. 

She listened to it all with her eyes fixed steadily 
and thoughtfully upon his face. 

‘‘Do you trust these men? she asked, when he 
had finished. 

“I have no high opinion of them, certainly,’^ he 
answered, smiling. “They are not people I should 
care to pass my life with. But the arrangements 
suggested leave them no opening to swindle me. 
I have the control of the stock and the business, 
and can vote them out if I choose ; I think I Ve 
been rather shrewd with them.’’ 

“They don’t seem to me good men,” said Sybil; 
“and I doubt if good can come from assotiating 
with people who are not good. I wish I could see 
them; then I could tell.” 

“Well, I’m afraid we can’t manage that,” 
returned Norton. 

“At what hour do you start?” asked she. 

“Bleven-thirty, I believe— the night express.” 


; THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 183 

‘‘And when shall you return?” 

“Oh, in three or four days; it will depend some- 
what on circumstances.” 

“I feel as if there were going to be a change,” 
said Sybil, in a low voice. 

“What sort of a change ? In you, or in me, or in 
things in general ? ” 

“I can’t tell; only — a change. After all, you 
know, people are not immortal. I’m sure, if it 
hadn’t been for you, I should have undergone a 
change long since.” 

“Come, you mustn’t talk like that, you know,” 
said Norton, looking at her more searchingly. 
“Have you been having more pain? Any new 
symptoms? ” 

“No pain at all; on the contrary, I feel well— as 
if I had no body. I feel able to do anything; 
though I know that I can only lie here. I am all 
thought and will.” 

“Well, thought and will cover a good deal. You 
must use your will to make yourself well, and 
your thoughts — to think of me sometimes.” 

“The last thing I shall think of will be you!” 
returned she, smiling; “and you can take that 
either way you choose. Goodby, now; we shall 
meet again.” 


184 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


‘^Indeed we shall! said Norton; and so they 
parted. 

No sooner had he left her than Norton came to a 
determination, namely, that at their next meet- 
ing he would ask her to be his wife. He won- 
dered why he had not done it before. Had he not 
loved her for a long while past ? Undoubtedly he 
had ; and yet he had never said as much, even to 
himself, until now. The conviction must have 
been present in his heart long ago ; but for some 
reason it had only just emerged into full conscious- 
ness. He loved her, and would ask her to marry 
him. He was convinced that she loved him. He 
could not have specified any act or word of hers 
to substantiate this belief, but he had it neverthe- 
less. It was new to him, and yet somehow famil- 
iar. It was as if some power or influence had all 
at once been applied to his soul, raising a curtain 
there which revealed a state of feeling long exist- 
ing but only now recognized. Such sudden and 
unexplained awakenings come to all of us ; and we 
know as little as Norton did wherefore. 

Though his resolve was, from a practical and 
rational standpoint, anything but defensible, inas- 
much as it was almost a physiological certainty 
that Sybil could not live long, and would never leave 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 


185 


her bed, still it brought Norton singular peace and 
happiness of mind. His eyes brightened and his 
step became elastic. He felt like a bridegroom 
going to his wedding. His thoughts dwelt entirely 
on Sybil, and she appeared, not as the invalid he 
had always known, but as the lovely and ani- 
mated girl she had been before they met. This was 
an odd freak of fancy, but its oddness did not 
strike Norton at the time. On the contrary, it 
seemed to him that he had never before been so 
reasonably and soundly himself as he was now. 

Considering that he was about to start on a 
journey the results of which were likely to have an 
important bearing on his whole future career, he 
might have been expected to think a good deal 
about the probable outcome and conduct thereof ; 
yet this matter, as far as he could afterward recol- 
lect, never invaded his mind at all; he neither 
could nor desired to detach his meditations from 
Sybil. In those meditations he passed the 
afternoon ; he was absurdly happy. After dinner, 
as his train did not start till toward midnight, 
he walked out for a stroll. He turned up Broad- 
way and walked on until he reached Thirty-ninth 
street. As his eyes rested upon the big yellow mass 
of the Metropolitan opera house, he all at once dis- 


186 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


covered that he wished to go in there and listen to 
the performance. 

He had not been to the opera for at least a 
dozen years ; but this desire did not seem at all 
strange to him, nor did it admit of an instant^s 
doubt or hesitation. He bought a ticket at the 
box office and went in. The opera was ‘‘Lucia di 
Lammermoor,” with Patti in the title-role. The 
first aet was nearly over as Norton took his seat 
in the parquet on the right. The house was over- 
flowing with a fashionable audience. Glancing 
around the array of boxes, Norton saw that only 
one was unoccupied ; it was on the first tier, two 
or three removes from the stage. 

The act ended, and a buzz of conversation arose 
over the great assemblage, a fluttering of fans, a 
rustle of programs, a leveling of opera-glasses and 
lorgnettes. Norton sat quietly in a state of sen- 
sation calmly delightful. All was well with him ; 
he had no anxieties, no doubts, no troubles on his 
horizon. Some great, unformulated happiness 
seemed near him or around him. He did not 
attempt to analyze or explain it, but gave himself 
up passively to its enjoyment. 

As the curtain rose on the second act Norton^s 
eyes happened to be fixed on the curtains at the 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER^S STORY. 


187 


back of the vacant box near the stage; and he saw 
a white hand with rings sparkling on the fingers 
grasp the border of the curtain and draw it aside. 
A young woman emerged, and, advancing to the 
front of the box, seated herself in one of the chairs. 
She was in full evening costume, the general effect 
of which was white. Her hair, which was very 
dark, was coiled on the top of her head, revealing 
the beautiful lines on the nape of her neck. From 
the base of her white and full throat the shoulders 
sloped with a slightly convex curve to the edging 
of her corsage ; her features were noble and lovely ; 



radiance rather than to reflect it. 


188 


SIX CENT SAM's. 


After settling herself in her chair, this beautiful 
woman took up a small operaglass and began to 
glance over the house. Presently she directed the 
instrument straight at Norton. She immediately 
lowered it, and bent forward toward him with a 
bow and a smile. She had recognized him; a 
moment later with a gesture almost imperceptible 
she beckoned him to come to her. 

Norton rose on the instant. Patti was in the 
midst of an aria, and the audience, entranced to 
hear, turned resentfully on Norton as he left his 
seat and walked up the aisle. Little cared he for 
that. He gained the lobby, mounted the stepsr 
and hastened along the corridor to the door of the 
box. There he paused a moment. ‘Ht is not pos- 
sible!” he murmured to himself. must have 
been mistaken. It cannot be she 1 ” 

Nevertheless, he opened the door, and found him- 
self in the ante-chamber. As he stood there, 
undecided whether to go on or to retreat, the 
curtains parted, and he saw the outlines of her 
figure dark against the bright background beyond. 
He stepped forward with an exclamation of joy, 
and grasped in his own the soft white hands that 
she held out to him. 

‘‘Sybil I ” he excl aimed ; “is this really you ? ” 


THE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER’S STORY. 


189 


is really I, Paul; wlio else should it be? 

“But when I left you this morning, you were — 

“This morning is not to-night. I am an invalid 
no longer. Do nft I look well ? I came here to see 
3 ^ou. Do you know why ? ” 

He looked in her eyes, and saw there all that his 
heart wanted to see. He could not repress the 
words that rose to his lips. 

“Sybil, do you love me?^’ 

“With all my soul! with all my soul!’^ she 
answered. He drew her inward through the cur- 
tains, and held her in his arms. 

They sat down and talked together. What they 
said was sacred. The words that lovers say are 
unimportant, but they convey meanings that 
transcend all language. They were in heaven. All 
glorious and lovely influences were about them, 
and time stood still. 

“How do you like my diamond, Paul — your 
diamond 

“Is that the one I doctored? It seems too splen- 
did 1^^ 

“What you did for the diamond is only the sym- 
bol of what you have done for me. They are mir- 
acles — never to be repeated! ’’ 

“Never, my darling! 


190 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


‘‘Take me home, now. I will not say good-by 
to you here. Then we must part for a little while 
— but not forever, remember ! Come ! 

He wrapped her cloak round her shoulders, she 
put her arm in his, and they passed out to a car- 
riage that was awaiting them. When they reached 
her house, she bade him enter. He followed her as 
she went rustling up the stairs, leaving behind 
her an exquisite perfume as of celestial flowers. At 
the door of her room she turned and smiled at 
him. 

A sudden misgiving seized him. He stepped 
hastily after her across the threshold. There, on 
the bed, lay the form of Sybil Trafibrd, white and 
lifeless ; beside her stood the members of the fam- 
ily, their faces wet with tears. But as Norton 
advanced to the bedside, Sybil opened her eyes. 
For a moment, through the shadow of death, 
there gleamed the smile and the beauty of the 
spirit he had communed with. She raised her 
hand, and laid her finger on the great diamond 
that sparkled on her bosom. Norton stooped and 
kissed her lips. When he raised his head she was 
gone. But he knew that she had been aware of 
their meeting, and that they would meet again. 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


191 


‘‘That’s all,” said Norton, tossing his dead cigar 
into the fireplace, and folding his arms. 

“It seems cruel — and yet, I do n’t know! ’’said I. 

“It was the blessing of my life,” returned he. “I 
don’t understand it. I can’t explain it. I won’t 
even say that I believe it ; but it was that.” 

“And what about the diamond scheme?” asked 
I, after a while. 

Norton shook his head. “Nothing. Those fel- 
lows turned out swindlers ; if I had gone to them, 
I should probably never have been heard of again. 
They meant to steal my process and then put me 
out of the way.” 

“Then that gives a motive for Sybil’s appari- 
tion.” 

“Oh, it was not that!” he exclaimed, almost 
indignantly. “It was to tell me something of 
infinitely greater moment. What is life ? But she 
brought me — something better ! ” 

* * * 

This story seemed to impress some of the com- 
pany, and I fancied I noticed a look of thoughtful 
sympathy in the eyes of my friend Captain Keppel, 
who had recently arrived in this country from a 
sojourn of some years in the East. As I knew the 


192 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


captain to be a fascinating narrator, I took 
advantage of my position next to Sam to whisper 
a suggestion to him ; to which he responded by an 
imperceptible nod. 

It may be as well to say here that the captain 
looks to be about fifty years old, though, for aught 
I know, he may be twice that age. There is no 
country that he has not visited, and there is hardly 
a man or woman of eminence or notoriety of the 
present century of whom he has not some personal 
anecdote to tell. He was born at sea, in the neigh- 
borhood of Cape Horn ; his mother was a 
Spaniard, his father an Englishman who had spent 
most of his life in America. His own childish years 
were passed in Ceylon ; he was educated partly in 
Vienna and Paris, and partly at Oxford. By dint 
of interest in high quarters, he obtained a lieuten- 
ancy in the English army, and was not long after- 
ward promoted for gallantry in the field. But the 
conditions of army life appear not to have suited 
him ; and having at a very early age attained the 
rank of captain, he resigned in the face of the most 
flattering prospects, and began those independent 
rambles about the world which have ever since 
continued. When in the mood, no man can talk 
more delightfully than he, though he is habitually 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


193 


reticent concerning dates and localities. Tlie cap- 
tain is organically related, so to say, to all 
national tiplieaYals and convulsions; an instinct 
for whicli he himself cannot account seems to draw 
him to the center of interest at the critical moment. 
He was present at the surrender of Sebastopol — 
to mention an event that fell within my own boy- 
ish recollections. He heard the guns of Sadowa; 
he stood on the fatal field of Sedan ; he leaned at 
the door of the little hut at Plevna, when Osman 
Pasha, wounded and beaten, gave up his sword to 
young Skobeloff. He saw Alexander H. blown to 
pieces by the bombs of the Nihilists ; he sawO^Don- 
avafi, of Merb, meet his death at the hands of El 
Mahdi ; and he is one of the few who still believe 
that Chinese Gordon yet lives, and will return to 
tell Europe a stranger tale of adventure than any 
it has heretofore listened to. There is reason to 
believe, too, that he was with Walker at Nica- 
ragua ; and it is known that he rode at Garibaldi’s 
side in his last campaign. But the captain is the 
quietest of men ; he wears no ribbon in his but- 
ton-hole, nor is there any trace of bombast in his 
talk or manner. So simple and unstudied are the 
words of his narratives that you are conscious 
not of them, but only of the event which they por- 


194 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


tray. He is a spare, soldierly, sinewy figure of 
middle Height, with a grave, resolute face, gray 
moustache, with scanty hair curling over a well 
formed head; at this moment he held a cigar in 
one brown, sinewy hand, while the other played 
with the tiny Indian idol at his watch chain. He 
was saying, in that deep, low, leisurely voice of 
his, that it would be money in the pocket of the 
owner of the Braganza diamond if Dr. Norton 
would try his skill on that. 

^^Have you ever seen it? ” I asked. 

The captain nodded. 

“Some persons say,” remarked Sam, “that it is 
not a diamond at all; certainly not of the first 
water.” 

“When I was in Rio, a good many years ago,” 
said the captain, “the then young Dom Pedro 
showed me the stone, and I held it in my hand. I 
could just make my fingers meet around it. It is 
not, of course, so brilliant as the Kohinoor; it is 
not cut as that is ; and it certainly has a slight yel- 
lowish tinge. Nevertheless, as you know, it has 
been valued at $15,000,000 American money, and 
we may say that nowhere else is so great value 
compressed into so small space. The ransom of 
a kingdom within the grasp of a schoolboy's fist. 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


195 


But there is significance in the legends attached 
to most of these great jewels — that they are 
inhabited by a demon, which works calamity to 
whomsoever becomes possessed of it. There is 
something destructive, maddening, phantasmal 
about them; they promise infinite wealth, and 
they bring only misery and death. They diminish, 
instead of adding to the riches and prosperity of 
the world. Their history is a history of robbery, 
oppression, and murder. The devil is in ^em,” he 
added, taking a puff at his cigar. After a pause, 
continued : 

“But the devil doesnT get into them except by 
our introduction. The Braganza lay in the earth 
a myriad of centuries, unknown and untouched, a 
mere harmless, glittering lump of crystallized car- 
bon. If mankind would but pass a law that such 
gems bear no money value, and are to be used only 
as religious emblems, the demon would be exor- 
cised, and we would all be the happier.’’ 

“You seem to be particularly interested in the 
Braganza,” said I. “Is there any legend attached 
to it?” 

“There is a strange story connected with it, 
which I heard, a good while ago, from the chief 


196 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


actor in the drama. Do you know the circum- 
stances of the stone’s discovery? ’’ 

‘‘It’s a South American gem, isn’t it ? 

“Yes; it originally belonged to the Emperor of 
Brazil, and was given by him to the King of Port- 
ugal. Well, I doubt whether any one now living, 
except myself, knows the full history of the matter. 
I have met with few instances of the irony of fate 
more remarkable; as the tale is not very long, 
perhaps it would not bore you to hear it.” 

“I was just about to ask you to tell it to us, 
captain,” said Sam. 

The captain laid down his cigar, folded his arms, 
and after a few moments’ recollection began : 


THE captain’s STORY. 


'ET me see — when was it? Never mind; it 
a long time back. I was 
New Orleans, on my way to 
Havana, where I meant to 
take ship to Vera Cruz, 
and so to the City of 
Mexieo. There was a 
delay in getting off, — yel- 
low jaek in Havana, or something, — at all events 
I was obliged to spend some ten days in the Cres- 



THE captain’s STORY. 


197 


cent City. One day, an old, white-headed beggar 
came up on crutches to the veranda of the hotel at 
whieh I was stopping, and asked for alms. He 
had a look of having seen vicissitudes. I took a 
fancy to him, and put a gold eagle in his hand. 

“You seldom get hold of such a fortune as 
that,^^ said I. 

“Senor,^^ he replied, speaking with a Spanish 
accent, but correctly enough, “I have held in this 
hand what would buy this whole city, and put a 
new city in its place. 

“You have been improvident, it appears,”said I. 

“ My improvidence, senor, was before that time 
— not after. 

“Unfortunate, eh?” 

“The most unfortunate, senor, of God^s crea- 
tures.” 

“Miraculously so,” added I; “for it is no less 
than a miracle that a man should be able to lose as . 
much money as that.” 

“It was taken from me,” said he. 

“But you resisted ? ” 

“No, senor.” 

“Who was the thief? ” 

“It is a question that I have often asked myself, 
senor. I have sometimes said that it was one man. 


198 


Six CENT SAM^S. 


sometimes another; at times I have accused 
myself. But, at the last, I think it was none of 
these; it was — Fate.” 

That may be said of all misfortunes ; you are a 
philosopher; but most men would not give up such 
a fortune, even to Pate, without a struggle. Any- 
how, Fate canT have spent the money.” 

The fellow shrugged his shoulders. I saw that 
there was a mystery somewhere, so I made him 
come up to my room, and put a bottle of wine on 
the table between us. There and then he told me 
the story of his life. Here it is : 

His name was John Cordoba. He was born at 
Monterey, his father being a respectable man, and 
well off, as times went ; his mother was the hand- 
somest woman in the town. Juan remarked that 
he resembled her in his youth ; and possibly he did. 
The inhabitants were under the dominion of the 
priests, who practically owned everything, and 
lived in a big adobe mission building, the ruins of 
which I have seen. When the California gold-fever 
began many emigrants passed through Monterey, 
and left a good deal of money behind them there ; 
but this was long before that period. Juan lived 
in an adobe house, built round a court, verandaed, 
stuccoed and white washed. There was no school- 


THE captain's STORY. 


199 


ing in those days, and Juan played about wherever 
fancy led him ; his mother idolized him ; he was the 
only son, and all went his way. 

This mother of his was a very superstitious 
woman — a believer in omens, witchcraft, and 
magic white and black. She was not herself an 
adept, but there was an old Indian wizard whose 
acquaintance she cultivated, and whose advice she 
followed. Had she been a New Englander, she 
might have worked off this imaginative tendency 
by writing romantic stories for the magazines, or in 
lecturing on Women’s Rights. As it was, she had 
to wreak herself on mysticism ; and pethaps that 
way is as harmless as any. But it turned out 
badly for poor Juan. At the time of his birth, she 
had the old Indian hag cast his horoscope, and 
caused it to be engraved on a gold disc, about the 
size of your hand ; and. for many years Juan wore 
it suspended to his neck by chain ; in fact he kept 
it until he lost everything. If any horoscope 
ever deserved to be preserved, certainly this did ; 
it was a truly remarkable affair. 

Are you familiar with the technical terms of 
astrology ? If not, I won’t trouble you with such 
details as what planet was Lord of Life, what 
signs were hostile and what favorable, and how 


200 


SIX cnnT sAM^s. 


they were posted. Juan drew it all out for me on 
the fly leaf of an old testament that happened to be 
lying on the mantelpiece ; it must be confessed that 
it had an alluring look to it — quite enough to 
ensnare a sounder judgment than his. There were 
a number of minor indications, good and bad ; but 
the great point, overruling and dwarfing all the 
rest, was to the effect that the “native,’^ on a 
certain date between his twenty-second and 
twenty-third years, was to become possessed of 
greater wealth than belonged to any living man, 
and that he should acquire this all in one day. 

There was no mistaking the signs; if any 
reliance was to be placed in astrology, then the 
truth of this prediction was beyond question. 
Needless to say that Juan’s mother believed it, and 
that she brought up Juan in the faith. He was 
given to know that he was to be the greatest cap- 
italist of the century soon after he came of age. He 
inherited his mother’s imaginative temperament, 
combined with a strong mingling of Mexican indo- 
lence; and it is not to be wondered at that his 
splendid expectations disinclined him to work his 
way through the world. All the nearly boundless 
power that wealth can give was to be his. His 
father died while Juan was a child, and thus the 


THE captain’s STORY. 


201 


only restraining influence over the boy was 
removed. He became the little autocrat of his own 
home, and was even regarded 
with a sort of reverence by 
others. People humored 
him, and as he grew to 
manhood, he waxed ever 
more overbearing and 
headstrong. He was 
the handsome, reckless 
ungovernable Juan 
Cordoba, with a 
dazzling future be 
It was more prudent to be the 
the enemy of a man like that. Out of his countless 
millions he might enrich every man, woman and 
child in Monterey, and never feel the difference. 

Meanwhile Tie felt safe in spending freely what- 
ever money he could lay hands on. There was no 
Jew money-lender in Monterey, and even had there 
been, he might have hesitated to accept Juanas 
security; but his mother gave him all she had. 
Why should she refuse him? In a few years it 
would all return to her a millionfold, and it was 
well that the boy should acquire the habit of dis- 
pensing riches. So Juan cut a fine figure, wearing 



202 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


the finest clothes that money could buy, and try- 
ing his best to behave as if the hour of destiny had 
already struck. One can imagine it must have 
been an agreeable life; spending all there was in 
hand, and trusting in the stars to reimburse him 
without limit hereafter. Like Julius Caesar and 
Napoleon Bonaparte, he regarded himself as 
superior to the rest of men — as the favorite of the 
gods. Whatever he attempted must succeed; 
whatever he did must be right. For a long while 
results seemed to confirm his assumption. He had 
the best of good luck. Where others would have 
met disaster, he emerged scathless. 

So handsome and conspicuous a youth was sure 
to have plenty of love affairs, and Juan might have 
married the best match on the coast had he 
chosen ; but he was not at this period a marrying 
man. He meant to wed an empress one of these 
days, and was not going to throw himself away 
on a Mexican senorita. At the same time, he was 
no ascetic, and the consequences were as might 
have been expected. He lived in a tangle of 
intrigues, and since discretion was never the lead- 
ing trait of his character, it was a constant mar- 
vel that he escaped getting a knife between his ribs. 
To judge by his own account, the women knew 


THE captain’s STORY. 


203 


not how to resist him ; and on the other hand, the 
women’s natural protectors were never on hand at 
the right moment. 

One young lady, Maria Torres by name, made a 
particular impression on Juan. She lived near San 
Jose. Her father, an alcalde, was not ignorant of 
Juan’s reputation, and prevented him from having 
access to her. She was betrothed to her cousin 
Gonzales. Stimulated by opposition, Juan finally 
succeeded in getting some private conversation 
with Maria, and promised her marriage. At all 
events, he so dazzled and misled her, that she con- 
sented to an elopement. The distance from San 
Jose to Monterey is about fifty miles. Juan rode 
thither one night, rested the next day, and on the 
following night awaited Maria at a place pre- 
viously agreed on with two horses. It was his 
plan to ride with her to Santa Cruz, take a vessel 
there and escape to one of the islands off Santa 
Barbara. 

He had at this juncture nearly completed his 
twenty-first year and was looking forward with 
impatience to the accomplishment of the prophecy. 
In truth, he had nearly got to the end of his tether. 
All the property his father had left was spent; 
house and lands were mortgaged to their full 


204 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


value ; and many debts had been incurred. Unless 
destiny soon appeared, he was likely to have trou- 
ble. But he had no misgivings. On the contrary, 
as he waited at the trysting-place, he had never 
felt more assured that all was going well. 

Maria came at last and received an ardent 
welcome. But before Juan could lift her into the 
saddle, two men, who were anything but welcome, 
joined the party. They were the alcalde and 
Manuel Gonzales. The former rode at Juan, who 
was still on foot, with his pistol leveled. It was 
life or death. Juan snatched his own pistol and 
fired; the alcalde fell. Manuel sprang from his 
horse and rushed on Juan with his knife. The next 
moment, Manuel was on the ground with his own 
knife buried in his heart. It was all over in a 
couple of minutes. The noise had attracted some 
people in the neighborhood, and Juan had no time 
to lose. It was useless to think of Maria ; she was 
on her knees beside her father; he drove in his 
spurs and was off. Toward morning he reached 
the coast, boarded his vessel, and made sail. Such 
was the end of his last love affair. 

During the voyage, he had ample leisure to 
review his position. He was ruined in purse and 
person; for his horoscope could not have availed 


tun CAPTAIN^S S'TORV. 


205 


to save his life. Even in Mexico, it is not a con- 
venient thing to murder alcaldes ; though, to be 
sure, as he learned years afterward, the old gentle- 
man was only wounded, and survived for many 
years. But Manuel was dead, and Juan was 
known to be his slayer. He could never venture 
back to his own home, for it would add a bitter- 
ness to death were he to suffer it after having got 
his millions. Juan, however, did not dread home- 
sickness. When his destiny was accomplished, he 
could send for his mother, change his name, and 
live in splendor where he chose. The recent catas- 
trophe had not in the least weakened Juanas faith 
in his golden future. The adventure might have 
turned out worse. He had escaped without a 
scratch, and though he could not have Maria, 
neither could Gonzales. There were other Marias, 
not to speak of empresses. It was not Juan’s cue 
to repent; life was before him, and he felt qualified 
to enjoy it. The great change could not now be 
far distant . Meanwhile, except the clothes he wore 
and a hundred dollars in his belt, he had nothing. 
He lay on the deck, wondering in what form and 
by what means his fortune was to come to him. 
Was he to find the philosopher’s stone? Was he 
to stumble on a goldmine ? It was a curious fact, 


206 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


he told me, that in none of his speculations did 
the thought of diamonds come to him. 

After a week at sea, they were still forty miles 
north of the Santa Barbara islands. It now fell 
dead ealm, and they lay rolling and creaking on a 
long swell for four and twenty hours. Then, in a 
moment, as it seemed, a hurricane from the north- 
east struck them. They drove staggering to the 
south-west for a night and a day ; the wind then 
moderated, but soon began again from the north- 
west. The vessel was in a sinking condition, and 
the boats had been swept away ; the crew set to 
work to make a raft. Juan looked on but made no 
offer to help. So persuaded was he of his charmed 
life that at no time during the storm had he felt 
uneasy as to his ultimate safety. When the raft 
was finished, it was found to be barely large 
enough to accommodate the crew ; and the captain 
told Juan that, since he had not seen fit to help 
them, he might now help himself. The men got 
aboard, hoisted a sail, and drifted away, leaving 
Juan to sink with the ship. When morning broke, 
the raft was out of sight, but the ship was still 
afloat. About noon, a barque hove in sight, bore 
down on him, and took on board the man of 
destinj^, little the worse for his adventure. The 


THE captain's STORY. 


207 


raft was never again heard of; the ship sank 
within an hour after Juan left her. He felt more 
than ever convinced that his long awaited glory 
was at hand. 

The barque that had rescued him was bound for 
the Isthmus, and in the course of a few days he 
was landed there. While his money held out, he 
lived at his ease, making no provisions against 
possible impecuniosity in the future; meanwhile he 
made the acquaintance of some persons who seemed 
as aimless as himself ; but by the time his last dol- 
lar was gone, he had got an inkling as to what 
their trade might be. They were in fact highway- 
men, and they did business on the road across the 
Isthmus by which the emigrants traveled. The 
opportunities for escape and concealment which 
this locality offered were excellent, and the returns 
too rich to be despised by even so important a per- 
sonage as Senor Juan Cordoba. The question of 
morality did not much disturb him; he was 
already an outlaw. In short, this romantic vaga- 
bond became a brigand ; and since he was of a 
masterful and daring disposition, he was presently 
elected captain of the band, which now became a 
terror to the country. In these agreeable pursuits 
Captain Juan whiled away a year or more; and 


208 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


the day was not far off when the prophecy of the 
horoscope mnst fall due. 

The brigands, in the intervals of their raids, were 
in the habit of assuming a law-abiding guise, and 
amusing themselves in one or other of the coast 
settlements. Here, as luck would have it, Juan ran 
across a gentleman whose worldly goods he had 
appropriated a few days previous, and who recog- 
nized him on the spot. He was arrested, and find- 
ing that denials were unavailing, he not only made 
a clean breast of it as regarded himself, but also 
revealed the names of his associates. The latter 
were promptly hanged, but Juan, out of recogni- 
tion for his assistance, was put in a striped suit, 
his hair cropped short, his shoulder branded with 
a hot iron, and he was given a life-job as a govern- 
ment convict. But his life was spared. 

While there’s life, there’s hope; and Juan did not 
lose courage. He thought he could easily contrive 
an escape; either an earthquake would swallow 
up his keepers, or an angel would descend from 
heaven and loose his fetters, or some expedient for 
getting rid of them would present itself. In the 
meantime he maintained cheerful and friendly rela- 
tions with his guards, and they permitted him to 
wear his arnulet beneath his striped jacket — for as 


THE captain’s STORY. 


209 


an amulet he regarded the gold horoscope which 
contained the assurance that his misfortunes must 
soon cease. One day, however, he and some of his 
companions were put on board a vessel bound to 
the harbor of Rio Janeiro. 

The heat was intolerable, and the sufferings of 
the involuntary voyagers 
were great. Fever broke 
out among them ; but Juan 
was not attacked. The ma- 
jority of the sick died, but 
the man of destiny survived. 

Having arrived at their 
port, they were 
taken ashore, di- 
vided into parties, 
and marched into 
the interior. The 
Brazilian govern- 
ment, needing la- 
bor on. the roads 
of the country, had 
contracted for the 
labor of the con- 
victs. Having 
reached their destination, they were each morning 

14 



210 


SEX CENT SAM^S. 


chaiiied leg to leg, driven to the scene of opera- 
tions, and kept at work there till sundown. It 
was killing toil ; but Juan, wiry and vigorous, was 
supported by the conviction that the day of his 
deliverance was at hand. This secret belief so ani- 
mated him, that he obtained the favor of his 
employers, and was promoted to the post of dep- 
uty overseer. He was freed from the chain that 
bound him to his mate, and was occasionally 
allowed to lay down his own pick and shovel, and 
direct the work of the others. So time went on, 
and though he lost the count of days, he was 
able to say to himself every morning, ‘‘perhaps it 
will be to-day;’’ and every evening, “perhaps 
to-morrow.” And he smiled privately to himself 
to think how surprised his keepers would be. 

The severest labor was the cutting down of the 
tropical vegetation which often crossed the line of 
the road. But much of the country was a level 
plain, with rocks jutting up out of it, moulded in fan- 
tastic forms ; again, there were stretches of ferru- 
ginous gravel; and sometimes broad marsh-lands 
in the midst of the savanna, carpeted with grass 
whose bright green hue contrasted pleasantly with 
the brown herbage of the plains. Though the heat 
was great, hunger was almost as sharp as thirst. 


THE captain’s STORY. 


211 


and there was no solid food to be had except beef, 
which must be eaten as soon as killed, or else 
salted. The pulp-covered nuts of theBacaba palm 
were more agreeable to the palate; and a drink 
was made of the red berries of the Guarana, dried 
to powder and mixed with water. Air and earth 
were full of insects, and overhead hovered the 
great urubus, looking for carrion. The beauty of 
flowers was everywhere; each day’s sun set in a 
blaze of splendor, and in the mornings the low 
banks of cloud were tinged with ethereal rose- 
color ; but the existence led by the convicts was a 
constant torture, which no fairness of nature could 
alleviate. 

At times, in the midst of the day’s toil, a deep 
stillness would settle down, and soon black clouds 
would collect on the horizon, and move to the 
zenith. Then lightning and thunder vrould flash 
and explode in the black vault, and the rain would 
fall in broad masses, hissing on the hot face of the 
earth. During these fierce paroxysms of storm all 
work was suspended, and the men sought what 
shelter they could find. During one of these storms, 
Juan took advantage of the cover aflbrded by a 
mushroom shaped rock at the roadside. Two of 
the other convicts squatted beside him. The 


212 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


steady roar of tlie deluge, the detonations and 
the flashes, produced a sort of numbness of the 
senses. The streams of water careering down the 
slopes wore deep channels in the soil; and as Juan 
stood vacantly gazing at these ruts his eye was 
caught by the shining of a large crystal. It had 
been laid bare by the little torrent; and after a 
while, fearing lest it should be covered up again, 
Juan issued from his shelter and picked it up. 

As he grasped it in his hand, an explosion as of 
cannon fired into his ear stunned him, and at the 
same moment he was enveloped in a blinding glare 
that hurled him to the ground and seemed to dry 
up all the juices of his body. He became senseless. 
On coming to himself, he saw that the storm was 
over; but beneath the ledge of the rock lay the 
blackened bodies of his two companions, dead and 
rigid. The right leg of his own trousers was 
scorched below the knee, and the limb twisted; 
the links of the chain that fettered his ankles were 
fused, and the chain no longer bound him ; but the 
thunderbolt had laid fetters upon him that could 
never be loosened ; he was a cripple for life. 

He still clutched in his hand the piece of shining 
crystal which had saved his life and mocked him 
by severing his chains. Could his limbs have 


THE captain’s STORY. 


213 


served him, he might have escaped then and there 
in the dense jungle that extended close to the road. 
But he sat helpless, with the great crystal, larger 
than a hen^s egg, sparkling in his hand. Presently 
the two overseers who had the party in charge, 
and who had been stunned but not injured by the 
shock, came up to him. Finding that he could not 
stand, they decided to return to the camp, about 
two miles off, and bring an ox-cart on which to 
transport him, and the bodies of his late com- 
panions. 

‘‘Remember not to run away,’’ said one, wag- 
gishly ; “exertion in this weather is unhealthy.” 

“What has our gentleman got in his hand?” 
said the other. “It sparkles well.” 

“I picked it out of the mud,” said Juan, indiffer- 
ently, letting the man take it. 

“Only a bit of melted glass,” said the first 
speaker. 

“Melted glass doesn’t grow hereabouts,” 
returned his companion. “That’s a bit of crystal, 
and not a bad bit, either. I’ve seen worse 
sold for a dollar. I shall take it back to camp, 
and show it to the engineer.” 

Very well; only, whatever we get for it, we go 


214 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


shares, amigo was the reply. ‘‘Ah, if it were 
only a diamond, now.^’ 

“Holy Virgin! A diamond! Yon and I would 
then buy Brazil, and use it for a cattle-ranch.” 
They walked away laughing. 

Juan had sat duringtheir conversation in a mood 
of gloomy abstraction, and he so remained after 
they were gone. For the first time in his life, he 
felt unhopeful. It was not only that he was 
maimed ; he had a sense of having lost something 
more than bodily vigor. What was it ? 

“Holy Virgin! A diamond!” Who had said 
that? Had he said it himself? A diamond; what 
diamond ? “Holy Virgin ! A diamond ! ” What 
had put that into his head ? Stay ; were not dia- 
monds sometimes found in Brazil ? Diamonds are 
a kind of crystal ; that stone that he had found 
was a crystal. Suddenly Juan sat erect and 
stretched out his clenched harids before him, while 
his face grew crimson. It was too terrible to be 
believed. It was impossible; and yet — to-day 
must be the very day foretold by the horoscope. 
It must be so, because to-morrow was Sunday, 
and the fatal day was the Saturday before his 
birthday, which he knew was next w^eek. 


THE captain’s STORY. 


215 


But a diamond nearly as large as a man’s fist ! 
Who ever heard of such a thing? Aye, but who 
ever heard of such a fortune as had been promised 
him? And it had come to him, a cripple and a 
convict ! A convict who had no rights — who could 
own nothing. “Holy Virgin! A diamond!’’ A 
diamond indeed ! Such a diamond as would buy 
a nation. Yes, he had found and had held in his 
hand the chief diamond of the world, and had 
given it away without a thought. And so had the 
prophecy been fulfilled — so had Providence, in 
which he had never lost faith, kept faith with him. 

He shrieked ; he raved ; he shouted to the black- 
ened corpses, on which the urubus were already 
beginning to settle; he rolled on the earth, and 
beat his head in frenzy against the stones. A crip- 
ple and a convict, and to have found the greatest 
diamond in the world ! He again became insensi- 
ble, and the urubus hopped beside him, with heads 
sidewise, and hungry beaks. 

He opened his eyes ; someone was shaking him 
by the shoulder. It was the man to whom he had 
given the diamond. 

“Heh, amigo j have you found any more of those 
bits of glass ? ” 


216 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


Give me back my crystal/’ said Juan, in a whis' 
per. 

‘^Ha, ha, — ^his crystal! Come, do you know 
what sort of a crystal that was of yours ? Why, 
it’s a diamond — a true dia mond, worth 

hundreds of millions; 

m y friend, 
shall get a thousand 
lars apiece for it ; and, by 
the Virgin, we have spoken j 
good word for thee, too, and- 
who knows? — ^thou mayst gety 
thy pardon in a year or two.(f 
Carrambo I such crystals are 
worth picking up.” 

‘VMy life — my diamond 1 ” muttered Juan, and fell 
forward on his face. 

When a man has lived wholly under the domin- 
ion of a fixed idea, and something happens to 
deprive him of it, his life, in a sense, comes to an 
end. Two men could not differ from each other 
more than did the Juan who had been before the 
finding of the diamond, from the thunder-smitten 
wretch who crept about Rio a year later, pardoned 
by the emperor. For a long time his mind was 
affected. At last, one day, he found himself in 



THE captain’s STORY. 


217 


Panama, withont knowing how he got there, and 
thence, in the course of years, he made his way as far 
north as Los Angeles. There, driving in a car- 
riage, with a Spanish officer — evidently her hus- 
band — ^by her side, he saw a beautiful woman 
whom he recognized, though she did not recognize 
him ; she tossed him a bit of silver, with a glance 
of pity and slight aversion. Heflungitbackto her 
with a snarl of rage ; it was the first touch of 
emotion, good or bad, that he had felt since he lost 
the diamond. 

He finally came to New Orleans, and had 
remained there ever since. When I met him, he was 
a very old man. By the time he had finished his 
story, the bottle of wine was finished too. I 
thanked him for the entertainment he had given 
me, and he, saluting me with a certain dignity, 
hobbled out of the room. I went to the window, 
and looked out. There was a rattle of wheels and 
a shouting in the street, and I saw a carriage 
drawn by two horses that were running away. 
Juan Cordoba was at that moment crossing the 
street on his crutches. The carriage whirled by in 
an instant ; and there, on the pavement, lay the 
finder of the Braganza diamond. They brought 
him to the veranda of the hotel; but when I 


218 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


reached him, I saw that the poor fellow had 
gone where diamonds have no value. 


» « 


The captain picked up his cigar and relighted it ; 
the rest of us sat silent for a minute at least. Then 
Sam, without making any comment, addressed 
the individual on his left hand, who, owing to his 
position, was the only person at table whom I had 
not been able to see. 

‘^If I^m not mistaken,’’ said Sam, ‘‘you’ve been 
abroad, too. Would you mind telling us about 
something entertaining over there ? 

Whereupon, the person in question opened his 
mouth and discoursed to the following effect : 


THE UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 



HE friends whom I expected 
to meet in Athens had 
been gone two days when I 
^ arrived. This was the first 
^of October. I spent three 
weeks exploring the Gre- 
cian capital and its envi- 


rons, and then I ran across my old college mate, 
Haymaker, one of the most useful men living, for 


THB UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 


219 


he knows everyone and everj^hing, has been every- 
where, and is as full of enthusiasm and energy as 
on the day he entered the freshman class. 

He asked me whether I had been to Egypt. I 
said that I had not. ‘‘Then now is your time! 
was his reply; and taking out a notebook, he pro- 
ceeded to jot down for me an itinerary, containing 
such useful details as the names of the best hotels, 
merchants and dragomen, the things to be seen 
and the order in which to see them, the number of 
days or weeks to be spent in various places, the 
fees to be paid to government officers and others, 
and the approximate total expenses of a six months 
trip. 

“There you are, my dear boy,’’ said he, hand- 
ing me the paper, “and when you get home, 
if you don’t confess that your winter on the Nile 
was the pleasantest experience of your travels. I’ll 
stand a dinner for a dozen at Delmonico’s, and you 
shall make a speech!” As we shook hands at 
parting, he added, “Mind and don’t forget to look 
up old Carigliano. Charming old maniac — ^worth 
all the rest of the trip put together ! ” 

I embarked for Alexandria a few days later, and 
on the fifth of November we sighted the Pharos, in 
a temperature of seventy-eight degrees, and in the 


220 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


midst of a color, a movement, a picturesqueness, 
and a strangeness, such as are to be met with only 
in the East. The wharves crowded with shipping, 
the ports, the villas and the palaces, glowed in the 
calm clear light of the oriental afternoon. Handed 
at the custom house in a perfect Babel and jostled 
by a crowd of dark-hued faces, bare legs, and 
scanty but gorgeously fine clothing. In a wljirl of 
gesticulation, broken English, and rapacious, good- 
humored excitement, I had my trunks examined 
and was driven (following Haymaker’s advice) to 
the Hotel Europe. There I secured the services of 
Ahmed Hassan as dragoman, and my Egyptian 
campaign began. 

Everybody has made the same campaign, or has 
read accounts of it, so that I will not enlarge upon 
my individual experiences. I stayed in Alexandria 
a week, and then took the train through the green 
antiquity of immemorial Egypt, as far as Cairo. 
There I remained a month — long enough to begin 
to feel in harmony with the oriental idea. In other 
words, I began to get used to turbans, to naked- 
ness, to the union of inconceivable squalor and 
splendor; to streets a yard wide crammed with 
donkeys, camels, merchandise, and the population 
of a score of barbarous countries; to the awful 


1 


THE UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 


221 


repose of the living desert, and to the immortal 
simplicity of the mysterious pyramids and of the 
Sphinx. I became accustomed to a sky from which 
no rain ever fell, and to a valley whose verdure 
was derived from a spring which no man had ever 
discovered. I grew familiar with the cry of the 
muezzin from the minarets, and with the calm and 
shadowy interior of the domed and splendid 
mosques. Egypt is the stimulus and the despair 
of adjectives! I welcomed the unveiled sunshine 
to the marrow of my bones, and thought 
of Cleopatra and the Pharaohs. 

There is no other land so strange 
as this, nor any in 



which the stranger 
comes to feel himself 
ally at home. At 
dahabeahj and, 
of December, I 
of the 
exchange 
wriggle 
back for the 
and musical ripple 
tian sail-boat. 

Now ensued three weeks of enforced but delicious 


so soon 
prehistoric- 
last I hired a 
on the fifteenth 
began the ascent 
Nile, not sorry to 
the jolt and 
of the donkey- 
smooth glide 
of the Egyp- 



222 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


inactivity, during which I had leisure to digest 
what I had seen, and to prepare myself for what 
might be to come. Though the Nile flows out of 
the dead past, it is itself anything but lifeless. The 
current runs rapidly; boats flit in all directions, 
impelled by oar or sail; voices are continually 
heard, in song, shout, and laughter ; wild geese sit 
on the long sand strip or fly honking overhead. 
Cairo, with its silvery domes and minarets, sinks 
slowly beneath the northern horizon; on our left, 
beyond the desert, are the notched hills of Mokat- 
tam; on our right, the wide valley, green with 
abundant grain, beautiful with rows of palms, 
noisy with the shrill voices of dark-robed women 
clustered on the banks, populous with mud vil- 
lages and squatting, staring Arabs. Here and 
there a sAac/oo/laboriously irrigates the plain, or, 
higher up the river, the creaking sakia not less 
primitively fulfils its office. The days are a long 
glory of sunshine; the nights, a soft splendor of 
stars. We are sailing into the earliest twilight of 
human history; but earth and sky were never 
clearer or more bright. We lose all sense of time ; 
the mere luxury of existence obliterates it ; what is 
a lifetime compared with the immeasurable ages 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


223 


which gaze down upon us from the margins of this 
mighty stream ? 

It was at the close of the first week in January 
of the new year, that, coming on deck one morm 
ing early, I saw opening before me the great valley 
of Thebes. It was a splendid morning — it seemed 
to me even more splendid than usual. A couple of 
vultures, sitting on the high western bank, rose in 
the air and sailed away towards the Lybian hills, 
whose clear gray outline cut the purple sky. Were 
they going to seek for food in the tombs there? 
The plain, of vast extent, and green as the 
emerald, is unequally divided by the broad, swift 
running of. the Nile ; of the ancient city nothing is 
yet visible; though, with a good telescope, one 
might perhaps discern in the southern distance the 
forms of the twin colossi of the Pharaoh Amunoph, 
and the matchless obelisk of Hatasoo Thothmes. 
Nevertheless, a glow of memory and anticipation 
came upon me ; for here was the scene of a civiliza- 
tion more sumptuous and earlier than any in 
recorded history. For each stalk of grain that 
waves now in the northern breeze, there was once 
a living man, with ancestors before him and a pos- 
terity to follow ; and the energy, power, and mag- 
nificence of their existence has dwarfed and made 


224 


Six ceki' sam^s. 


pallid all that came after them. As we continued 
to move slowly up the stream, the world-famous 
ruins loomed larger and more distinct ; and mud 
villages of the present inhabitants, clustered near 
or upon these gigantic fragments, were like the 
nests of swallows under the eaves of a cathedral. 
It seemed as if no being of less stature and ability 
than Memnon himself could have hewn out and 
piled together such immeasurable miracles of stone. 

I had made my arrangements for a prolonged 
stay in Thebes ; and as inns are not plentiful in 
that region, I made a hotel, and a very comforta- 
ble one, of my dahabeah. We made fast near the 
bank, close to the temple of Luxor, and while I ate 
my dinner Ahmed Hassan engaged in a personal 
conflict with fifty or a hundred Arabs, who wanted 
to sell the howadji all the spoils of Egypt, from the 
time of Menes, the eternal, down to the latest 
Ptolemy. Presently I came on deck, and getting 
into our boat, Ahmed and I were rowed across to 
the western shore, where donkeys and more Arabs 
were awaiting us, and prepared to take a prelim- 
inary gallop in the direction of Karnak, a mile or 
two down the river. 

Among the Arabs I noticed one man, who. 


THE UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 


225 


though with them, was evidently not of them. 

He was tall, and of digni- 
fied bearing, and his full 
beard, which was nearly 
white, fell down over his 
breast. His eyes were 
blue, and very bright ; 
their glance was penetrat- 
ing, but restless. His com- 
I plexion, though tanned 
I by the sun, had been orig- 
inally fair ; his broad fore- 
-jj head was partly concealed 
by a white turban, and 
he wore full Turkish 
trousers gathered at the 
knee, while over his close- 
fitting undergarment was 
thrown a flowing cloak, 
which he gathered about him as he stood. In 
spite of his oriental costume, however, I was quite 
sure this man was not of Eastern birth ; and the 
manner in which he had scrutinized my face and 
appearance seemed to indicate that his interest in 
me, if he had any, was of another kind than would 
be felt by a real son of the desert. 

15 





226 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


‘‘Who is that?^^ I inquired of Ahmed, as we 
jogged along. 

“He? Oh, he ver strange man, come here long 
time, tink from Europe. Five year — ten year — 
allays see he; he ver wise — say he crazy.’’ 

“What is his name?” 

“Oh, not know right name; call he Kehr-el-Lans 
Effendi. He go much tomba; mebbe hunt antika; 
but not know.” 

“Does he live here ? ” 

“Tink he live Temple Medinet Abou. We go 
bimeby — mebbe find he. Plenty time talk he.” 

There was an impression on my mind that I 
had heard something about this mysterious per- 
sonage; but it was too vague at the moment, to 
enable me to analyze it ; and the overpowering 
spectacle of Karnak effectually put the matter out 
of my head for the time being. But, a few days 
afterward, we visited Medinet Abou ; and while I 
was endeavoring to determine, with the aid of 
Ahmed and a guide book, which portion of the 
ruins was the later work, and which that of the 
sister of Thothmes, the same dignified figure that 
I had seen on the river bank suddenly appeared 
from behind a neighboring column; and after 
saluting me gravely, proceeded, with much cour- 


THE UNSEEN MAN's STORY. 


227 


tesy, and in the French tongue, to enlighten me on 
the question. It was soon evident that he was 
profoundly versed in the lore of ancient Egypt; 
and I was particularly struck with his manner 
when mentioning Hatasoo Thothmes; or, as he 
called her. Queen Amunuhet. His voice, when pro- 
nouncing her name, was lowered to a reverential 
murmur ; and he passed the palm of his hand down 
his face from his forehead to his chin — an oriental 
gesture signifying homage. 

‘'She was a remarkable woman, I ventured to 
observe. 

“There was none like her,’’ hereplied. “Shehad 
many subjects, many worshipers; and one at 
least,” he added, with a sigh, and clasping his 
hands on his heart, “still survives, and walks the 
earth in the likeness of a man ! ” 

At this moment I was visited by an inspiration 
of memory; the recollection of my friend 
Haymaker’s injunction flashed over me. “ Pardon 
me if the question is indiscreet,” I said, “but 
have I not the honor of addressing Monsieur 
Carigliano ? ” 

He bowed slightly. “I once bore that name,” 
he replied. “But, for twenty years, since I have 
lived here, it has been as a mask which I have cast 


228 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


aside. My true name might, perhaps, be found on 
one of these stones ; but it has never been uttered 
by living lips.’^ 

‘‘So this,’’ I thought to myself, “is Haymaker’s 
‘ charming old maniac ! ’ His acquaintance cer- 
tainly seems to be worth cultivating. To hear 
him talk, one would suppose he had enjoyed per- 
sonal relations with a princess who died thirty-five 
hundred years ago ! That is a form of mania that 
ought to be enquired into.” Aloud I said, “I wish 
I might hope to enjoy the benefit of further inter- 
course with you. I am deeply interested in all 
that appertains to the history of the Pharaohs ; 
and especially,” I added, meeting his eyes, “in the 
age of the great Thothmes.” 

The change of expression that lightened his face 
showed me that I had touched a favorable chord. 
“It is a long time,” he said, “since I have held 
converse with a member of what are called the 
civilized races ; but I feel moved to speak to you ; 
and, since you express interest in a matter nearly 
affecting me, it will give me pleasure to oblige you. 
If you will come to this spot to-morrow evening 
alone, I will take you to my abode, and do my best 
to give you satisfaction.” I thanked him heartily, 
and promised to be on hand; he bowed, again 


THB UNSEBN MAN^S Sl'ORY. 


229 


saluted me gravely, and, retiring, was soon lost to 
sight behind the huge, thickly planted columns of 
the wondrous temple. 

When I explained to Ahmed the purport of our 
conversation, he strongly advised me to have 
nothing to do with the adventure. He declared 
that ^‘Kehr-el-Lans Effendi” was a powerful 
magician, and was quite capable of putting me 
under a spell and shutting me up for a thousand 
years in some forgotten tomb of the hills. He was 
often heard conversing in an unknown tongue with 
spectres ; and was suspected of kidnapping the 
babies of the neighboring poor people, and offering 
them up as sacrifices to the heathen deities, whom 
he was supposed to worship. At the very least, 
Ahmed added, this redoubtable wizard would in 
some way compel me to pay for my escape from 
his clutches with an immense sum of money. In 
spite of these warnings, however, I held to my pur- 
pose ; and about sunset the next day, I presented 
myself, alone, at the appointed spot. In a few 
minutes Carigliano made his appearance; and I 
followed him through the ruins for a distance of per- 
haps fifty yards. I then saw him stoop, and push 
against a slab of granite, set in an apparently solid 
portion of the temple wall. It moved, as if upon a 


230 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


hidden pivot, and disclosed a flight of steps leading 
downward. The darkness was intense ; and for a 
moment I hesitated. Having come so far, how- 
ever, I was determined to see the end of the adven- 
ture, and I accordingly descended. 1 heard his 
footsteps preceding me; and then a light flashed 
up, and I found myself in a subterranean chamber 
which bore evidence of being used as an abode. It 
was of fair height, and about twenty feet in length 
by fifteen in width. The walls were of polished 
stone, engraved with pictures and hieroglyphics. 
It contained a mattrass, and various simple but 
sufficient appliances of life. Everything was neat 
and clean, and the air was pure, though the 
method of ventilation was not apparent. The 
light proceeded from a large lamp of antique 
design which depended from the ceiling. 

Some cushions at the head of the room served as 
a divan, and upon this Carigliano motioned me to 
be seated, while he brought forward two long- 
stemmed pipes, which we lighted and smoked. For 
some time our conversation was laconic, and on 
indifferent topics. But at length my entertainer 
took the pipe from his lips, fixed his eyes upon me, 
and spoke as follows : 


ME UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 


231 


have admitted you to this chamber, whither 
no other guest has ever penetrated, not merely for 
the sake of gratifying your curiosity, but because 
the time has come when — if ever — ^the history of 
my life must be unfolded. To-morrow it will be 
twenty years since the event occurred which 
revealed to me my destiny ; and yours are the last 
mortal eyes that will behold me. Before I vanish 
forever, I desire to leave some testimony behind 
me as to my past and my future. 

“I came to Egypt at twenty-eight years of age, 
as an attache of a scientific expedition sent hereby 
the French government. My technical duties were 
to decipher and to take copies of the more impor- 
tant hieroglyphic writings and inscriptions in the 
tombs and temples. But I had, for a number of 
years previous, given my whole attention to the 
study of ancient Egyptian subjects, and was, even 
at that time, more profoundly versed than any 
other scholar in its problems and mysteries. I had 
always felt an especial and peculiar inclination 
toward these researches ; it seemed to me far more 
like recalling what I had once known, than as 
breaking absolutely new ground in knowledge. 
The scenes and persons of the days of the Pha- 
raohs were as vivid in my imagination as the 


232 


Six CENT SAM^S. 


memories of yesterday; I spoke their language and 
I comprehended their wisdom. And when, for the 
first time, I breathed the air of the Nile valley, and 
felt the sand of the desert beneath my feet, and 
beheld the mighty monuments of a vanished 
past, a voice in my heart seemed to tell me that 
this was no foreign country, but my home. 

It was here in Thebes that my duties chiefly 
lay, and it was here, also, that the mysterious 
home-feeling was most strong. From the first, I 
needed no guide ; each step I took was on familiar 
ground ; and as I gazed over the valley of ruins, 
some secret faculty of my mind reconstructed the 
scenes of four thousand years ago, and I saw once 
more the splendid city throbbing with life and 
sparkling with wealth, and witnessed the triumph 
of the kings, the processions and sacrifices of the 
priests, the glittering array of the soldiers, and the 
throng and tumult of the people. It was awaking 
dream, but it made the reality of the present seem 
unsubstantial. And ever and anon — especially 
when sauntering about the ruins of this temple — I 
was sensible of another feeling : a strange tremor 
and yearning of the heart, which I could not under- 
stand, yet which, could I have fathomed it, would. 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


233 


Ithouglit, have proved the key whereby all else 
that was perplexing might be unlocked. 

One morning I arose early, and took my sketch- 
ing materials, intending to spend the day in one or 
other of the great tombs that honeycomb the 
western hills. A foot-path leads over the ridge 
beyond Medinet Abou, — a track of powdered lime- 
stone, — and so, by a steep descent, brings one to 
the naked and desolate gorges beyond, where the 
Pharaohs were entombed. On reaching the sum- 
mit of this ridge, I turned, and for a few moments 
gazed back on the wide valley of the Egyptian 
capital. The sun had just risen; its light flashed 
across the long curve of the Nile, and touched the 
lips of Memnon, as he sat eternal on his throne, his 
shadow falling far behind him over the green 
expanse of waving grain at his base. Involunta- 
rily I bent forward, as if to catch the music of the 
response which, as tradition says, the colossal 
deity was wont to make to the salutation of the 
sun-god. And, in truth, a deep, melodious sound 
seemed to resound in the air — though whether pro- 
ceeding from Memnon^s lips, or from the heavens 
above, or from the depths of my own breast, I 
could not tell ; a sound that resolved itself into 
words, saying,' ‘Pass on, thou favored one, and 


234 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


fear not ! Thy queen awaits thee ! ’ And down I 
rode into the shadow and silenee of the abyss of 
tombs. 

^‘Threading my way among loose bowlders, and 
down a narrow and devious traek, I reached the 
bottom of the descent, and wound along the 
length of the ravine. It had been my first inten- 
tion to enter one of the tombs of the kings ; but I 
was impelled to press onward, and at length I 
entered another gorge, lying further toward the 
heart of the hills, which, as I knew, had been set 
apart for the interment of the queens of Egypt. 
Here, a sense of solitude more profound than any 
I had before experienced came over me ; but accom- 
panying it, and even arising out of it, was afeeling 
of being conducted and inspired by some intelli- 
gence or personality not my own. I fell into an 
abstracted mood, in which I scarcely noted the 
way I was going ; until at length I came involun- 
tarily to a pause, and, as it were, awoke, and gazed 
around me. 

was in a region so wild and savage, so naked 
and desolate, that it seemed as if no hum an being, 
before me, could ever have penetrated there. 
Rocky walls, wholly devoid of vegetation, arose on 
each side, and climbed heavenward, as if they 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


235 


would meet in the depths of the purple sky. Loose 
fragments of limestone hung on the ledges of the 
precipices, or lay in confused masses on the narrow 
floor of the tortuous valley. The sun, now some 
hours high, flung its white luster on the western 
walls, yet only the upper portion of them was 
illuminated. No sign of life, not even an insect or 
a bird, disturbed the stillness; no sound was 
audible but the hoof-tramps of the ass that I 
bestrode, which were echoed in exaggerated 
volume from the imprisoning cliffs. On my left 
hand was a vertical face of rock, the base seeming 
to rest upon a mounded slope, composed of 
detached and shattered blocks. I dismounted and 
clambered up this ascent, and then beheld, to my 
surprise, the distinct outlines of a picture graven 
into the limestone. It covered a space about four 
feet in length and breadth ; and from its unusual 
situation, as well as from its remarkable intrinsic 
character, it strongly fixed my attention. It rep- 
resented the body of a woman, apparently of 
high rank, lying on a pallet; and as I judged from 
certain accessories, about to be prepared for 
embalming. But beside her stood the figure of a 
man in soldier^s garb, who, with outstretched 
band, seemed about to take the woman’s heart 


236 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


from her bosom. Some of the details of the picttire 
indicated that it dated back as far as the time of 
Thothmes — the period of the Hebrew Exodus; 
and yet the cutting of the lines was as sharp and 
undefaced as if the artist had but just given the 
finishing stroke of the chisel. 

lost no time in setting up my easel, and, pre- 
paring to make a careful copy of this picture, I sat 
on a detached fragment of stone, with my right 
hand toward the face of the cliff ; and in drawing 
I rested my hand on the mahl-stick, the end of 
which, for convenience, I rested against the design 
I was copying. As, from time to time, I had 
occasion to alter the position of my hand and of 
the mahl-stick, it happened that its point at 
length rested upon that part of the picture where 
was represented the heart of the woman upon the 
pallet. At the same moment I was conscious of a 
slight jar, causing me to make a false stroke; and 
the mahl-stick slipped from its place. I looked up 
and saw — ^what I had not noticed before — ^that the 
entire surface of the stone upon which the picture 
was engraven was sunk some distance below the 
surrounding surface of the rock. The depression 
was slight, not more than half an inch ; but as I 
looked, it became gradually deeper and yet more 


THE UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 


237 


deep ; it was now two inches and still increasing. 
In the course of a few minutes, the pictured stone 
had receded as much as a foot, with a steady but 
slowly accelerating movement. Overcome with 
wonder, I continued to gaze at this singular phe- 
nomenon, until the stone was nearly out of sight. 
The direction it took was slightly inclined upward; 
and I perceived that the polished surfaces upon 
which it traveled were finely grooved, the grooves 
corresponding with ridges in the moving stone, 
which fitted into the former. 

‘‘By this time I had in some degree recovered my 
self-possession, and resolved to pursue the investi- 
gation ofthis marvel. I had brought a small lamp 
with me, for use in the tombs, and this I now 
lighted, and holding it in my hand, I crawled into 
the cavity left by the receding stone. This cavity 
was now about ten feet in depth, the sides as 
smooth as glass, and ascending at an angle of 
about twenty degrees. But after following it a 
little further, there was a sudden enlargement to 
double the former dimensions. I was now able to 
stand upright, and to walk on a passage beside the 
moving stone, instead of following in its track, as 
heretofore. It continued to travel upward beside 
me; and I now discovered that the immediate 


23B 


Six CENl' SAM*S. 


cause of its ascent was a fine but strong cable of 
bronze, which w^as fastened to its inner side, and 
was being drawn inward by some force beyond. 
The push which I had accidentally given with the 
mahl-stick to that particular spot in the picture 
which represented the woman’s heart, had prob- 
ably given the impetus which set the machinery 
in motion. 

‘‘After proceeding up the slippery incline for per- 
haps a hundred feet, I came to a level space, reach- 
ing to an unknown extent beyond, above, and on 
each hand. And here, by the dusky light of my 
lamp, I saw the semblance of a human figure, 
slowly and steadily turning the handle of a 
machine resembling a windlass, to the body of 
which the bronze cable was attached, and around 
which it was being wound. The figure wore the 
Egyptian head-dress and garb, and his face and 
limbs were of a brown hue; but so regular and 
rigid were his movements, and so imperfect was 
the light that I could not decide whether he was 
indeed a human being, or only himself a cunningly 
wrought part of the machine. I spoke to him but he 
returned no answer ; and my own voice died awaj' 
in a hollow whisper. As I stood there, the stone 
which had closed the entrance to the passage 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


239 



reached the summit of the ascent ; and the figure, 
after putting a checkin the cog of his wheel, sank 
down beside it, with his face upon his knees, and 


his hands clasped around his ankles, and became 
motionless in the attitude which, perhaps, had 
been undisturbed till now for more than thirty 
^euturies. 




240 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


Shading my lamp with my hand, I moved 
along the walls of the chamber, which lay trans- 
versely across the ascending passage by which I 
had come. It was lined with white stucco on 
which were painted in brilliant colors such scenes 
of the daily life and habits of the Egyptians, as are 
customarily found on the walls of tombs. At 
length I came to an opening nearly opposite that 
by which I had entered; a corridor extending 
further into the mountain. After following it for 
awhile, I was brought to another corridor at right 
angles to it, going in both directions. I chose the 
turn to the left, and soon came to another turn, 
which descended for a long distance, and, just as it 
seemed to come to an end, admitted me into a hall 
much larger than the first, and more richly deco- 
rated. Here were represented the various cere- 
monies of the dead, the liturgies relating to their 
travels in the realm of shades, together with astro- 
nomical designs, and figures of monsters and of 
deities. In the center of the room, moreover, stood 
a large sarcophagus, richly engraved and orna- 
mented, but empty. Here my explorations had 
apparently come to an end, for there was no visible 
outlet from the chamber. Accustomed as I was, 
however, to the coucealnieuts of these gigantic 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


241 


excavations, I felt assured that the end was not 
yet ; and when I applied my shoulder to the upper 
end of the sarcophagus, it yielded to the pressure, 
and sliding forward, disclosed an oblong aperture 
in the floor beneath it, into which I unhesitatingly 
descended; and after wandering blindly for some 
minutes, first in one direction and then in another, 
I discerned a gleam of light in front of me, and, the 
the next moment, entered an apartment the solemn 
grandeur of which seemed a fitting culmination of 
all that had preceded it. 

^^In the center of the lofty ceiling was a represen- 
tation of the winged sun ; and from it, or through 
it, proceeded a soft but powerful light, like that of 
phosphorescence in its nature, though bright 
enough to fill every comer of the vast hall with a 
clear radiance. The walls glowed with color, and 
here were the sacred figures of Isis and Osiris, of 
Homs, of Athor, Anubis, Ptah, and Nofre Atmos. 
But these things scarcely impressed themselves on 
my senses, for I was arrested by a far greater 
marvel. The figures on the walls were but 
shadows; but the floor of this mighty chamber 
was populous with forms of concrete substance ; 
with men and women who breathed and moved 
and lived. They lived, and yet it scarcely seemed 


242 


six CENT SAM*S. 


like life, so slow, so almost imperceptible were 
their movements. It was as if the space of an 
ordinary lifetime had been drawn out, forthem, to 
the measure of myriad years ; that days were to 
them as moments, and yea.rs as hours, and centu- 
ries as years ; that while the breath came and went 
through their nostrils, a moon might wax and 
wane ; and that the lifting of their faces was as 
the turning of the earth upon its axis. It was, 
perhaps, the dry, unchanging atmosphere of this 
region, hidden deep beneath the heart of the moun- 
tain, and separated from the world without for so 
many hundred years, that had wrought this 
torpor in them; I myself had become already sen- 
sible of an alteration in the beating of my pulse 
and a subtle lethargy in my movements. At first, 
as I looked upon this strange assemblage, they 
seemed each one to have paused, in the accomplish- 
ment of some characteristic act. One swarthy 
fignire was shaping a necklet of gold brought from 
the deadly mines of Ethiopia ; another, with mallet 
uplifted, was chiseling a statue ; still another, held 
in his hand a scarabseas, which he was about to 
polish. In another place, a man was in the act of 
blowing glass ; near him was one with colors and 
a brush, making as if to add another touch to his 


THE UNSEEN MAN’s STORY. 


243 


picture; others were in the attitude of turning the 
potter^s wheel, of breaking flax, or of playing 
draughts. In one corner of the room were a group 
of women seated on the ground, with a ball which 
they seemed about to toss from one to another. 
But, as I contemplated them, their apparent insen- 
sibility resolved itself into motion, and I saw that 
they were not carven images, but that the hearts 
which had begun to beat when Moses was an 
infant, still sent the blood through their veins, 
though in pulses as measured as the tides of ocean. 

‘^Meanwhile, my presence was seemingly 
unnoticed; no eye had met mine, and I was as appar- 
ently invisible to them as if the abyss of ages that 
lay between us had been as wide in space as it was 
in time. But, as I paused near the entrance of the 
hall, uncertain what to do, my ears caught a faint 
sound of solemn music ; a portal of stone at the 
opposite extremity of the vista was slowly unfolded 
and from it issued, with lingering but majestic step, 
a stately procession. First came boys, bearing 
censers in the form of a golden arm, in the hollowed 
hand of which burned fragrant balls of kyphiy dif- 
fusing a heavy perfume. Then followed an array 
of tall and grave-looking men in white robes, and 
wearing on their foreheads the sacred ostrich 


244 


SIX CKNT SAM’S. 


feather, emblem of truth, and sign of the initiated 
priest. Next came a bevy of attendants, men and 
women, brilliantly attired, some carrying vessels 
of Phoenician glass that sparkled in the light; and 
one who bore on high and shook aloft the golden 
sistrum, with its bars and rings, emblem of Venus. 
Finally, borne in a litter on the shoulders of twelve 
Nubian slaves, appeared a woman, at the sight of 
whom my heart stood still and my breath failed 
me. She was dusky as the Nile at evening, and 
beautiful with a beauty that belongs to the morn- 
ing of the world. Her eyes were long, black, and 
brilliant ; and their gaze was royal. The outline 
of her smooth cheeks was oval, and her features 
were the features of the Pharaohs, but softened 
with all the loveliness of a woman. Above her low, 
broad forehead was placed the stately head-dress 
of an Egyptian princess; and, from her left temple, 
a long black braid, plaited with golden threads, 
hung down to her feet, as a sign of her royal line- 
age. Her robe was purple, and of a tissue so deli- 
cate that the contours of her perfect form were 
discernible through its silky folds. Round her 
neck, and resting upon her bosom was a broad 
collar woven of pearls and precious stones; her 
arms were encircled by bracelets of massive gold, 


THE UNSEEN MAN’S STORY. 


245 


and in ter girdle were woven turquoises from Ser- 
bal, talismans of good fortune. At ter rigtt tand 
croucted a monkey, sacred to Ttott, tte god oi 

ter race; and 
on ter left a 
^wtite cat 
[from Persia, 
in wtose 
long silky for tte 
slender fingers oi 
tte princess were 
tidden. 

Wten tte bearers of the 
litter reached the center 
of the hall, beneath the 
illuminated semblance ot 
the winged sun, they knelt and 
slowly lowered their burden 
to the floor. Then, with a lei- 
surely movement, the princess 
arose, and stood erect to her foil 
[1/ height, and her eyes slowly 
fixed themselves upon mine, 
for I remained opposite to 
her, in a vacant space alone ; 
and a spell seemed to be upon me, so that I could 




246 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


move neither hand nor foot, nor remove my gaze 
from her transeendent countenanee ; jet it seemed 
to me a countenanee that I had seen before, and 
had known well, and passionately loved. And it 
seemed to me that I was not myself, or that a 
truer self than I had hitherto known looked 
through my eyes and breathed through my 
nostrils. 

‘‘Then the princess spoke, in slow and measured 
tones, and in the clear tongue of ancient Egypt 
that I knew and remembered as my own. 

“ ‘Man,’ she said, ‘art thou he for whom I have 
waited?’ 

“And I answered her, ‘I am Pantour, the son of 
Amosis.’ 

“And she said, ‘Dost thou know me?’ 

“And I answered, ‘Thou art Amunuhet the 
queen, the sister of Pharoah ; thou art she who 
didst build the temple and the obelisk, and didst 
perform many mighty works.’ 

“And she said, ‘Speak on, Pantour, and tell what 
thou knowest.’ 

“And I said, ‘0 queen, I loved thee; and thou 
didst deign to return my love. And our love was 
hidden, that none might know it. And in the 
midst of our love death came to thee. And when 


THE UNSEEN MAN’s STORY. 


247 


thy body was prepared for the embalmers, I stood 
beside thee, and there was none to see me. And I 
put forth my hand and took thy heart out of thy 
bosom ; because, I said, “ My heart is hers : let me, 
therefore, keep her heart in the stead of it.^’ And 
I kept thy heart, and none knew what I had done. 
But when death overtook me also, I called my 
friend to me and charged him, saying: When I 

am dead, take thou my heart from my bosom and 
put in the place of it the heart of the Queen Amun- 
uhet, whom I loved, but my heart thou shalt burn 
upon the altar of Osiris. And he swore to me to 
do as I had commanded. And in that same hour 
my spirit departed.’ 

^^Then the queen answered, ‘Thou hast said. 
Hear, now, what things have befallen me. For, 
when I entered into Kar-Neter, Osiris appeared to 
me, and mine eyes were dazzled, and my limbs were 
as if without life; neither could I speak, or eat 
food, or do battle with my enemies. But I prayed 
to the gods, and behold, my strength returned to 
me ; and holding the sacred beetle above my head, 
I entered into Hades. Then did Typhon assail me 
with many monsters, and I fought sore combats 
with them; and I had been overcome, but that 
Nir gave me to eat of the tree of life, and the 


24S 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


Divine Light instructed me. So I went on, and 
passed through many changes, and at last I 
entered once more into the body from which I had 
gone forth ; and then, undergoing many trials and 
temptations, I sailed down the river that flows 
under the foundations of the world, and gained the 
Elysian fields. Then was I brought to the great 
judgment hall, where sat Osiris and the two and 
forty assessors, and to them I confessed both my 
evil and my good. But when they brought the 
scales of justice, with the ostrich feather of truth 
in the balance, and would have weighed my heart 
against the ostrich feather, behold the heart was 
gone out of my bosom. Then the judges took counsel 
together and said, ‘^Thou shalt wait three thou- 
sand years, and half a thousand years, and he 
who took thy heart from thee shall come before 
thee; and if he will deliver it up to thee again, thou 
shalt enter into the bliss of Osiris. Now, there- 
fore, the time is come. Deliver back to me that 
which thou didst take from me ; and when thou 
hast fulfilled thy course, and conquered Typhon, 
and overcome temptations, thou shalt afterward 
be united to me in the kingdom of Osiris, and the 
bliss of us tv^ain shall be unto everlasting.’ 

^‘Thus spake the Queen Amunuhet; and when 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


249 


she had made an end of speaking, she sat on her 
throne, and waved her hand to the chief of priests, 
that he should take me, and lay me on the altar, 
and pluck her heart out of my breast. But then 
great fear came upon me, insomuch that I turned 
and fled away from before her. My limbs were as 
though sheathed in lead, and though I strove 
mightily, my steps were slow, for the air of the 
tomb had entered into my lungs, and all power of 
swiftness was gone from me. But the chief of the 
priests, and the other priests, and the attendants, 
pursued me; and though their steps also were 
slow, yet, by reason of the air that had entered 
the tomb from the outer world, they gathered ever 
new strength and swiftness ; so that it seemed as 
if I must be taken. Nevertheless, striving with all 
my might, I gained the upper platform where sat 
he who worked upon the windlass that lifted the 
stone from the entrance ; and even then the hands 
of my pursuers were upon me. And he of the wind- 
lass arose, and loosed the check from the wheel, 
and the great stone slid down the incline toward 
its place. But I also plunged downward, and 
came in front of the stone as it descended, and was 
swept out before it, and the entrance was closed 
behind me ; and I fell, and knew no more.” 


250 


SIX CENT SAM’s 


Here Carigliano paused, and bending forward as 
he sat, hid his face upon his knees. During several 
minutes there was silence; for he had spoken 
toward the close in a strain of exalted earnestness 
and passion ; and the spell of his words was upon 
me. No doubt, the man must be mad ; but his hal- 
lucination was so remarkable, and his expression 
of it so eloquent that, for the time being, I could 
not regain the equilibrium of my judgment. 

‘Ht was a narrow escape ! ” I said, at last. 

He sat erect, passed his hand over his forehead, 
and sighed. ‘Ht was a dastardly escape he 
replied; and for these twenty years past I have 
repented it. I was found that evening by some 
wandering Arab, and taken back to Luxor. For 
some weeks I was ill with a fever ; when I recov- 
ered, I tried in vain to find again the pictured 
stone; I have never set eyes upon it since. But, 
after a year of fruitless quest. Queen Amunuhet 
came to me one night in a dream, and told me that 
if, after waiting twenty years, I was prepared to 
make the restitution that she had demanded of 
me, the place of her tomb should be once more 
revealed to me, and I might enter in and deliver 
myself up to the altar. To-morrow the period of 
trial will be fulfilled, and I shall be seen of men no 


THE UNSEEN MAN^S STORY. 


251 


more. You are tlie last to hear mj voice, and to 
look upon my face. Henceforth, Pantour, the son 
of Amosis, belongs to the dead alone.” 


Soon after I returned to America, my friend Hay- 
maker and I dined at Delmonico’s; but I paid for 
the dinner. 



“By the way,” he exclaimed, as we sat over our 
coffee, “did you ever run across that fellow 
Carigliano?” 


“Yes,” I replied. 

“ Charming old maniac, isn’t he?” continued my 
friend. 

“He was a remarkable person, certainly.” 

“I think of running over to Egypt next winter, 
and I will make a point of looking him up again,” 
said Haymaker, lighting a cigar. 

“You won’t find him,” I answered. “The day 
after I last saw him he disappeared, and has never 


252 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


been seen or beard of since. But, from certain indi- 
cations, it was thought he had wandered into the 
ruins of the tombs of the queens; probably he 
found his way into one of them and never got out 
again. He had related some of his history to me 
the day before ; and certain hints that he let fall 
have made me suspect that he had a foreshadow- 
ing of what was to befall him.’' 

‘‘Poor fellow,” said Haymaker. “What a pity ! 
Romantic, too! Told you his story, did he? What 
was it?” 

“It’s eleven o’clock,” said I; “I’m going to 
bed.” 

“Or you might write it out,” continued my 
friend, as we put on our hats. “You’re always 
writing things ; and I dare say you might find 
somebody to print it.” 

* * # 

“I like a good ghost story,” remarked Sam; 
“ and this was one of a rather uncommon kind.” 

“It certainly was,” replied the author. “I was 
not aware that ghosts remained in good condition 
so long as three thousand years.” 

“Philosophers tell us,” put in a plump, swarthy 
gentleman of about five and fhirty years, seated 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


253 


next but one to the captain, ^Hhat time has no 
existence in the spiritual world; and we read in the 
good Book that 'A thousand years are but as yes- 
terday.^ As this is a time for stories, I would like 
to tell you of a little experience of my own that 
goes to show that three thousand years is by no 
means the remotest date in matters of this kind.’’ 

‘‘Go ahead, sir,” said Sam; “I dare say, for my 
part, that a ghost is like good wine— the older the 
better.” 

Thus encouraged, the swarthy gentleman unbur- 
dened his mind in this manner: 


254 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


THE SWARTHY MAN^S STORY. 



peculiar conditions of my 
rth probably accounted for 
my exceptional organization. 
It was a long time before 
I realized this, or that 
I was different from oth- 
ers. This ignorance on 
my part occasioned me a 
great deal of perplexity, and 
doubtless led others to 
believe that I was unbal- 
anced in my mind. When 
I happened to speak about 
things that were as familiar 
to my apprehension as 
chairs and tables were to 
the vulgar, they stared, and 
either shook their heads ominously, or laughed. 
This lack of sympathy surprised and hurt me, and, 
in the end, made me hold my tongue and keep 
aloof from them. But although I felt myself a 
Pariah, I did not comprehend the reason of it. I 
imagined it must be because I was ugly, or, in 


THE SWARTHY MAN^S STORY. 


255 


some way, disagreeable. As a matter of fact, I 
was far from being an ill-favored boy, and my 
manners were quiet and conciliating. 

I have no personal recollection of my mother. 
Her temperament was characterized by the obscure 
affection known to pathology as hysteria. Names 
are useful, but they seldom explain anything. On 
the contrary, they often delude us into fancying 
that we understand things that are really a mys- 
tery to us. As regards my mother, I might say 
that her normal condition was what is commonly 
known as an abnormal one ; in other words, more 
than half her life was spent in the state of trance. 
Her story was about as strange a one as my own; 
but it is the latter only that I am now to relate. 
I will only say that it was during one of her pro- 
longed trances that I came into the world; and 
that when, some days or weeks afterward, she 

awoke, as it is called, she did not know her own 
infant. Thereafter, my father kept her almost con- 
tinually entranced ; and in that condition, a year 
later, she expired. 

As for my father, he was, so far as my knowl- 
edge of him goes, a man of brains. With a few 
modifications in his organization, he would have 
been a great man of science. But these were lack- 


256 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


ing — or shall I say lie rose above them? — and he 
became a mystic. He studied the spirit, and its 
connection with the body. He sought the final 
analysis of matter, and how to control it; time 
and space were to him subjective conditions of the 
mind concretely interpreted. I did not know until 
long afterward, the extent of his researches and 
attainments. He conversed with me but seldom, 
and never on those topics. He was, of course, 
aware of my exceptional congenital powers, but I 
am not sure that he ever made use of them for his 
own ends. His manner was habitually cold, and 
it never occurred to me that he felt any affection 
for me. And yet I am sure, now, that he must 
have done so. Perhaps he foresaw that the culti- 
vation of my strange faculty could bring me only 
unhappiness, and therefore forbore to encourage 
me in it, although the forbearance cost him much 
information that he would have valued. But 
nature will have its way, and I found my fate in 
spite of his restraint. 

He died while I was on the boundary between 
boyhood and manhood. He left me a suflScient 
fortune, and a library which, though not very 
large, was worth to one who knew how to use it 
its weight in gold. I did not know how to use it ; 


THE SWARTHY MAN^S STORY. 


257 


at all events, I never examined it, or informed 
myself even as to tlie titles of tlie volumes. The 
only b’ooks I cared to read were works of fiction, 
narratives of travel and adventure, and treatises 
on history and astronomy. Music and poetry also 
gave me intense pleasure, though, as regards 
music, my taste could not be called conventional. 
I most enjoyed the simplest harmonies; and I am 
disposed to think that I was able to hear sounds 
that are inaudible to most people. For instance, 
there is a distinct and exquisite music produced by 
alternate sunshine and shadow drifting across the 
meadows, on a day when the sky is peopled with 
masses of white cloud; and, of summer evenings, 
the precipitation of dew is accompanied by a sub- 
tle sound, rising and falling like the strains of an 
^olian harp, but, of course, infinitely more refined 
than that. I could mention many similar exam- 
ples. And this sensitiveness of hearing was accom- 
panied by a corresponding acuteness of vision. 
Not that I could see to a greater distance, or 
detect more minute objects than the average of 
persons, but I plainly perceived things which were 
as invisible to the telescope and microscope as to 
the ordinary unassisted eyesight. 

This faculty, however, varied in me exceedingly; 


258 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 



if my mind were disturbed or I were suffering from 
any physical disorder, it almost ceased to act 

^ serene mood, I have 
waves of color, of hue 
intensity varying with 


the note and the 
position, pro- 
ceeding from 
the vibrating 
strings of a 
harp or 
waking 
confirmee 
most wh^ 
mesmeric 
sons are 
ored ema- 
formable to 
But this is 
while conversing 
observing him 
other figures 
these fig- 
but it would be 
impossible to say by what signs I was able to dis- 
tinguish them from concrete persons. There were 




violin ; and my 
sight has constantly 
the fact, familiar 
have experienced the 
trance, that all per 
surrounded by a col 
nation or sphere, con 
their several natures, 
not all. Sometimes, 
with a man, or 
quietly, I have seen 
besides him. I knew 
ures to be immaterial. 



THE SWARTHY MAN’s STORY. 


259 


generally four of the spiritual forms attached to 
each individual; and there was a strong resem- 
blance on their part to him with whom they were 
associated. The man himself never appeared con- 
scious of their presence; but I noticed that both 
his sayings and his actions were indirectly inspired 
by these attendants, though he possessed the 
power of choosing which pair of them he would be 
prompted by — whether by the evil pair or the good. 

These phenomena, familiar to me as they were 
from my childhood up, never, so far as I can 
remember, occasioned me any surprise ; they 
seemed altogether natural and reasonable, 
although, as I have already remarked, I soon 
found that no one else experienced them, and I 
therefore ceased to make any allusion to them. 
After my father^s death, I continued to live in the 
same house, and went very little into society. I 
passed my time in reading and meditation, and in 
taking solitary walks. I had long been aware 
(without paying special attention to the fact, or 
reflecting upon its significance) that I often lapsed 
into a state which I could only compare to that of 
dreaming. It differed from that, however, in sev- 
eral essential respects. The scenes and persons 
which I beheld in these states were evidently real, 


260 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


tliotigli I was not, as to my corporeal self, present 
in them. How, then, did I see them ? 

Had I been asked that question at the time, I 
should have answered, simply, that I saw them. 
Ordinary sight is a mystery as to its essence ; and 
this further sight of mine seemed to me neither 
more nor less mysterious. I had never heard the 
word clairvoyanee, and it would have explained 
nothing, if I had. At all events, not a day passed 
without my observing things that existed and 
oecurrences that happened far away from where 
my body was. How far away they were I did not 
know; nor, indeed, did I at first realize that the 
things and persons were as real as those that 
immediately surrounded me. That discovery came 
later, as I shall presently describe. A peculiarity 
of my clairvoyance was, that it did not involve, as 
generally is the case, a suspension of my external 
consciousness. I saw, as it were, with the bodily 
and the mental eye at the same time. Nor did this 
lead, as you might suppose it would, to any con- 
fusion between the two sights. I could always 
clearly distinguish between the normal and the 
abnormal vision; though I could not have made 
anyone understand how I did it. 

So time slipped away, until I was twenty-three 


THE SWARTHY MAN'S STORY. 


261 


years old. It was at that age that I became 
acquainted with Virginia Graham. She was a 
handsome girl, tall, with black eyes and hair, and 
a clear white skin. Her father was a Scotchman 
by birth ; he was a ship owner, and had been a sea 
captain. They lived about ten miles from my 
home; but my father had been acquainted with 
them in former years, and my own subsequent 
knowledge of them was therefore in the nature of 
a renewal of friendship. We met at a picnic; an 
annual merry-making that came off every Michael- 
mas. It was the first that I had attended ; and I 
believe that the same was true of Virginia. I was 
accosted by the captain, who spoke of his previous 
acquaintance with Professor Markham (my 
father) and introduced me to Virginia. I talked 
with her all the afternoon. She affected me in a 
manner entirely novel to me. It was no fancy on my 
part ; I could not be mistaken in her. The clair- 
voyant power that I possessed enabled me to 
divine at once her true character, which was pure 
and noble to a degree that I had never seen sur- 
passed in woman. What may have been her 
impression of me I knew not, nor did I speculate 
about it. It was happiness to be with her, and 
that was enough for me. 


2G2 


Six CENT SAM’s. 



We parted at length, and they drove away; I set 
out homeward on foot, being an active and tireless 
walker. As might be expected, my thoughts were 
busy with Virginia; and presently I found myself 
with her again. That is, I saw her driving along 
, the moonlit road with her 
father, and 
were now 
proaching 
port town 
where they i 

44i.|p lived. I had ^ 

never been in this town ; but 
all its features were distinctly 
present to me. I saw the car- 
riage turn into the main street, 
and stop at a large house on 
the corner. It was a house with 
a hip-roof, and a broad veranda 
with vines twining over it, 
and an old-fashioned arched 
doorway. Virginia alighted, 
and ran up the steps; the 
door opened, and she en- 
tered, while her father drove 
round to the stables. Virginia went into the dining 



l^HE SWARMY MAN’S STORY. 


263 


room, wliicli faced toward the east, and remained 
a few minutes ; then she mounted the stairs to her 
bed chamber to remove her wraps. At this moment 
the whole scene vanished, and I was on the lonely 
road, with my shadow moving beside me in the 
moonlight. 

It was then, for the first time, that the singular- 
ity of the affair struck me. I had actually been 
with her, when nevertheless she was miles away in 
an opposite direction. It was no dream, nor even 
a vision. I halted in my tracks, and gazed about 
me. Had I been with her, indeed ? Cotdd I be in 
two places at once ? 

‘^Certainly I can,’’ I answered myself. ‘‘The 
mind is free, and what is man but mind? His 
mind can travel to the ends of the earth, while his 
body remains at home. It is the mind that gives 
life and perception to the senses ; therefore life and 
perception exist, not in the senses, but in the mind 
itself. Wherever it goes, then, it must take its per- 
ceptions with it. It is only reasonable.” 

I walked on again, and my thoughts took 
another turn. “If I have seen her thus to-night,” 
I said, “what is to hinder my seeing her whenever 
I choose ? It is true that she will not be aware of 
my presence ; but I shall be the more free to con- 


264 


SIX CENT SAM's. 


template her without interruption. I have only 
to wish to behold her, and I shall do so.’^ 

Here, however, I found myself in error. I 
attempted to transport myself to her once more, 
but in vain. I was powerless to repeat the expe- 
rience. The condition was evidently an involuntary 
one, or at any rate subject to laws which I had not 
yet mastered. But it did not. follow from that 
that I might not learn to control it. I resolved to 
set about doing so without delay. 

I met with only partial success in my efforts. 
Sometimes, by fixing my thoughts upon Virginia 
for a long while, persistently, I attained to see her, 
more or less distinctly, and only so long as I could 
keep my will at its full tension. At other times, 
when I least expected it, I was with her ; and these 
occasions were much the more satisfactory of the 
two. I could not fully solve the problem, ponder 
it how I would. I had in the meanwhile paid sev- 
eral visits to the Grahams, and had convinced 
myself that my clairvoyance had not deceived me ; 
ever3rthing about the town and house was as I had 
found it in my vision. These visits also strength- 
ened the affection I had conceived for Virginia; 
and I had reason to think that she fully returned 
the feeling. Her face brightened when I came near 


THE SWARTHY MAN'S STORY. 


265 



her, and our lives seemed to support and illumi- 
nate each other. As long as we were together all 
was right and harmonious; troubles and annoy- 
ances only came when we were apart. 

One day I went into my father’s library. It was 
a place I rarely visited. It was in almost the same 
condition as when he was alive, 
large desk-table at which he used 
reading or writing, stood between 
windows. Notebooks and sheets 
manuscript were upon it, methodic- 
ally arranged, for my father had 
been a model of order and precision. 

There were his pens, pencils, and 
mathematical instruments, ready 


placed for the hand that now was dust ; the dia- 
grams, the celestial globes, the volume of astrolog- 
ical calculations — all the paraphernalia of the stu- 
dent of hidden things. A thin gray dust lay over 


266 


SIX CENT SAM's. 


these things, like the impalpable ashes of a 
vanished life. The chair in which h^ used to sit 
was pushed a little away from the table, as if he 
had just arisen out of it. It was upholstered in 
brown leather, much worn, but still sound ; it was 
broad-seated, roomy, and comfortable. I threw 
myself down in it, and thought of the man who 
had transmitted to me the mysterious thread of 
life; so easily broken, so indestructible. As I sat 
there, his influence seemed to be upon me, and I 
understood him as I had never before done. The 
interests and aims which had controlled his life 
became, for the time being, a stimulus to my own. 

The walls of the room were lined ceiling-high 
with broad shelves, in which were stored the rows 
of ancient volumes, bound in brown leather and 
white parchment, over the pages of which he had 
pored so deeply. But a small revolving bookstand 
stood within reach of the chair, and in this^ were 
kept the works in which he was more especially 
interested, or which he was at the moment con- 
sulting. I stretched forth my hand, and took out 
the one which came first. 

It proved to be a sort of digest or history of the 
phenomena of second-sight, followed by an attempt 
to elucidate the philosophy of the matter. Some 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


267 


statements that recalled my own experience caught 
my eye; I read on, and continued to read, hour 
after hour, until the increasing twilight deepened 
over the last page. 

From that day, I became as assiduous a student 
as my father had been before me, and of the same 
books. I learned many things that enabled me to 
understand my own condition, and its relation to 
the normal state. I read, too, a number of volumes 
treating of the esoteric features of the Buddhistic 
faith, and their theory of life and vocation. Much 
of their tenets took a strong hold upon me, partic- 
ularly the doctrines relative to the spiral of human 
existence, its periodic returns to activity and 
intervals of repose; and its final reabsorption into 
the universal life. This knowledge affected me like 
a reminiscence. I seemed to have known it before. 
I felt that I had indeed had a previous existence, 
somewhere, at some time. Where and when? Was 
there no closed volume of the memory that con- 
tained the story of that remote epoch, and which 
(did one but know the secret of that lock) might 
be opened and perused to-day? Meanwhile it 
became evident to me that clairvoyance — the gen- 
uine form of which is among the rarest of human 
gifts — ^was susceptible of far gi'eater development 


268 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


than it had yet received, at least among western 
races ; and I resolved to set about its cultivation 
in a systematic and, so to say, scientific manner. I 
carried out this resolution with a perseverence 
and diligence that left me no opportunity to do or 
think of anything else. Even Virginia was neglected 
for the time being, though my not seeing her was 
partly due to the fact that she had accompanied 
her father on a visit to the metropolis, upwards of 
a hundred miles distant. But everything seemed 
to me of secondary importance compared with 
the power I aimed at, which was nothing else than 
to be able to transport myself, so far as my per- 
ceptions were concerned, to any point in space 
that I chose, and at any moment that suited me. 

My success in some instances was so great as to 
nearly satisfy me ; but in others, when the con- 
ditions were apparently the same, I entirely failed. 
For a long time I was at a loss to understand the 
reason of this discrepancy. The explanation, how- 
ever, was simple enough, when once it occurred to 
me. In the metaphysical world — the sphere of 
thought and emotion — ^thought is presence. I am 
mentally in the society of the person upon whom 
my thoughts are fixed. But there is an indispen- 
sable requisite here: and that is sympathy. The 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


269 


travels of the clairvoyant depend upon his sym- 
pathy with the human beings whom he would 
visit. Sympathy, in this connection, is to be under- 
stood in the broader sense of the word ; it may be 
an affinity of liking, or of repulsion. The man or 
woman I hated may attract me as strongly as 
those I love. I now understood the cause of my 
failures. I attempted to go to — ^to be mentally 
present in— places where there was, so to speak, 
no place for me. Such a transmigration would 
only be possible to the clairvoyant who was con- 
trolled by some other will than his own, and with 
other affiliations than his. But I was my own sole 
agent in the matter. My journeys, though not 
limited as to distance, were circumscribed to some 
extent in direction. I had attempted, in some of 
my experiments, to leave the boundaries of this 
planet, and penetrate the secrets of other earths 
in the universe ; but I had never been able to effect 
a landing on those wondrous shores. This had 
greatly disappointed me, but the reason of it was 
no longer obscure. Those worlds are, indeed, 
doubtless inhabited by human beings ; but in the 
infinite scheme of creation, there is room for infinite 
variety, but no duplicate. The people of each of 
the planets present a phase of humanity differing 


270 


SIX CENT SAM*S. 


in some vital respect from one another, and from 
us. Therefore the spirit from this earth cannot 
come into communication with them. Hereafter, 
perhaps, when the depths and mysteries of our 
natures are more fully comprehended and revealed, 
we may find our way to these enigmatical brethren 
of ours, and study from them new lessons in the 
inexhaustible volume of being. 

At this time I happened upon a new discovery, 
which put my disappointments out of my head. 
It grew out of some of my researches in esoteric 
Buddhism. The Buddhists hold that there is an 
inner plane of being, to which they give the name 
of the ^‘Astral Light. Upon it are projected the 
living shadows or pictures of all that mankind has 
experienced since the creation. The eye which is 
opened to this plane can see the occurrences of the 
past enacted before his eyes by the phantoms of the 
beings who took part in them. These beings have 
a kind of life of their own, which can be stimulated 
by the sympathy and interest of the mortal specta- 
tor. 

One evening I went into a deeper trance than 
usual. I had been traveling, without any special 
destination in view, from point to point, and at 
last found myself hovering above the ocean, which 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


271 


was slumbering in a profound calm. Space, liter- 
ally considered, does not exist in the clairvoyant 
state; change of place varies with the mental con- 
dition. My mind had been in a vague and unsat- 
isfied mood, and I had allowed it to follow out its 
vagaries without muchatten ^<^tion to them. I 
only retained a general impres sion that I had 
strayed far from my usual ^ \ paths of 

contemplation, jN-X had 

followed an erratic and 
unfamiliar course. I had 

/ 

and 
stract ; 


course. 

been thinking less of persons 
places than of nature in the ah'" 
and so, at last, on looking v-^fe^round me, 
I saw only a silent sea, bound Jed by no shore 

and unruffled by any breeze. No \ f ship, nor any 
sign ofhumanlife,was in sight. It j\ \ was the dusk 
before the dawn ; overhead were y still visible 
some of the larger stars of the Southern constella- 
tions. 

For a considerable time I remained motionless 
in the midst of the great stillness, with a sensation 
of gradually retiring, as it were, into the innermost 
recesses of consciousness. It^seemed to me that, if 
this process continued, I should end by vanishing 
out of life altogether. I was conscious of a slow 


272 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


reYolving moYement, winding downward in a 
spiral. It was CYidently subjectiYC, and was 
attended by a Highly agreeable feeling. The spiral 
became smaller and smaller; at last it seemed to 
diminish to a mathematical point. On passing 
through that point, I ceased, for a time, to be con- 
scious of any sensation whatcYcr. 

When I came to myself, I was standing on a low 
promontory, OYcrlooking the sea. Behind me was 
a forest, composed of strange YCgetable growths, 
with which I was not familiar. They had the 
height of ordinary forest trees, but were of a dif- 
ferent character ; more in the semblance of huge 
weeds and rank grasses. The soil on which I stood 
was thin, and much mingled with mosses ; faces of 
rock, OYcrgrown with lichens, showed through it 
here and there. The air was heaYy and warm, 
and the sun, which had newly arisen, appeared red 
and large, through thick Ycils of watery Yapor. 

On the seaward slope of the promontory, barely 
a hundred yards from where I stood, appeared a 
small, pyramidal structure, which looked black 
against the eastern light. I took it to be a little 
cairn of stone ; at all CYcnts, it must be the work 
of human hands, and I approached it. As I went 
near, I perceiYcd that it was tiot a cairn, but some- 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


273 


thing ill the nature of a rude wigwam. It was 
made of skins, stretched upon a scaffolding of 
stakes, leaning together in an apex. Could it be 
inhabited ? I moved toward the right, and thus 
I my gaze encountered a human figure, seated 
on the ground before the entrance of the wig- 
wam. 

The figure was naked to the waist ; the 
lower part was covered with the soft fur 
mal. Black hair, of 
nary thickness 
and luxuriance, 
fell on the shoul- 
ders and down 
the back; the 
' _ flesh was 
of the 



hue of fine bronze, clear and polished. The back 
was turned toward me ; but after a moment the 


274 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


position was altered a little, revealing the swell- 
ing curves of the bosom, and I saw that it was a 
woman. 

She was engaged in moulding into shape the 
head of a flint axe. The tools she was using were 
also of stone, and the workmanship was rude. 
But she labored diligently and deftly and hummed 
a sort of chant to herself the while, that was like 
a concentration and rhythmical arrangement of 
the sounds of nature — the soughing of winds, the 
tinkle of waves, the moan of wild beasts, the 
warble of birds, the rush of the rain ; but pervad- 
ing and dominating all, a strong and sweet human 
note of emotion and love. No other music ever 
sounded like it in my ears ; it seemed to reach the 
love of life, and interpret the' secret of it. It was 
a human heart, at- one with nature, uttering 
nature^s word. 

But when I saw her face, I forgot everything 
else. It was beautifiil, but not like the faces of the 
women of our time. There was a lovely wildness 
in it, but it was not the savage wildness of the 
Indian. It was innocent, tender, impassioned, 
glowing with the fire of abounding life ; in purity 
an infant, in feeling and development a woman. 
Such eyes as hers no living being had ever beheld. 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


275 


They were black as night, yet clear as dawn upon 
the mountains: their glance sank into the soul, 
but they opened the way to the soul that lived 
behind them. Her lips were full, and modeled in 
curves of natural eloquence, so that their move- 
ment, even without audible speech, conveyed 
innumerable shades of meaning. In every physi- 
cal feature she had the ideal symmetry of a Grecian 
goddess ; and in her iDearing was the wild and 
gentle freedom of one who had never known fear, 
falsehood, or reproach. 

Who was she, and where was she ? What land 
was this she lived in ? And why did I feel this 
invincible attraction toward her, so strong as to 
be almost terrible? Surely it could not be love, for 
I loved Virginia. And yet, it must be love, and not 
only love, but absolute slavery — a feeling that we 
belonged to each other, body and soul; that we 
were inextricably and irrevocably one, and that,' 
whatever other ties we might form, this tie between 
us was prior and superior. The conviction of this 
did not dawn upon me slowly ; it came at once. It 
was an absolute and immediate identification of 
myself with her; we had the same soul. What 
did it mean ? It did not give me happiness, but it 
bore down all opposition. I could no more strug- 


276 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


gle against it than I could separate myself from 
myself. 

The remains of several animals killed in the chase 
were lying near at hand. But they were all unfa- 
miliar to me ; they were not species that inhabit 
the earth now-a-days. The vast head of yonder 
bear; the gigantic antlers of the elk; the enor- 
mous curve of those tusks, with woolly hide 
attached to them; those other remains, half 
marine, half terrestrial, and monstrous and gro- 
tesque. I had seen relics of such creatures in the fossil 
specimens of museums, but never in life. And 
what was the interpretation of these stone imple- 
ments, this strange forest, this dense atmosphere, 
this desolate coast ? 

The truth came upon me with a shock. I had 
roamed backward into the early twilight of the 
human race. This woman had lived and died ten 
thousand — perhaps a hundred thousand years ago. 
She was a phantom of the Astral Light. And she 
had thrown over me a spell of absolute possession. 

Needless to say, I was invisible to her. Across 
that gulf of ages, of what avail to reach ? Besides 
this that I beheld was but a shadow; she who had 
cast the shadow had passed on, and was now, 
perhaps, inhabiting another body, under condi- 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


277 


" tions utterly different. In the endless succession of 
incarnations, her soul had hidden itself, I knew not 
where. Only, wherever it was, that soul must 
belong to me, and I to her. 

But how could I hope to trace her through the 
ages ? She lived, she died, she entered into that 
abode of dreaming souls that the Buddhists name 
^^Devacban;^^ and thence, after thousands of 
years of repose, she issued forth once more, to 
assume another body, and dwell in another envi- 
ronment. Could I find her there ? 

Surely no conception so wild ever visited a 
human brain ! To return along the path of buried 
centuries, seeking not only a point in time, but an 
individual among all the countless myriads who had 
lived and loved since the beginning of human exist- 
ence on this planet ! Moreover, her second incar- 
nation might already have occurred, and the grave 
once more have closed over her; or, again, she 
might still be slumbering in De vac ban and her 
reappearance among men might not be for ages 
yet to come. 

I recognized the power of these considerations ; 
and yet, in spite of them, I dared to believe that 
such a search might be successful ; but the ground 
ppon which I based thi^ hope was simply the 


278 


SEX CENT SAM’s. 


power of the overwhelming attraction I felt for 
her, and which, I thought, could not but be 
returned. I seemed to have known her from the 
beginning of time, and now, in the vast intervening 
period, to have relinquished my grasp of the inte- 
rior chord that bound us to each other. I must 
have been near her when she first lived ; and by the 
law of psychical sympathy, I must also have 
remained near her ever since; and wherever she 
was now, there must I be also, and in relations 
with her the most intimate. She was not to be 
sought for, then, in distant lands, or in the past or 
the future ; but now and here — within reach, as it 
were, of my outstretched arm. And yet — where was 
she? 

She was not Virginia, of that I was convinced. 
The influence was an entirely different one. And, 
powerful as it was, it did not, strange to say, 
diminish or interfere with my love for Virginia. 
Rather, my love for Virginia seemed to make this 
woman only the more undeniably mine. The two 
loves did not antagonize, but cemented each other ; 
and I fancied that Virginia’s love for me was as 
great as or greater than my own, although of 
another kind. I could not explain this impression, 
or reconcile it with any known laws of human 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


279 


association ; but neither could I doubt its truth. 
She and I and Virginia were parts of one whole, 
and could never enjoy full happiness save in a 
common union. Who was she, then ? 


I looked 
aman 
■ himself to 


boat. 



terrible animal. It was formed, In Its upper parts, 
somewhat like a huge serpent ; but, from the way 
the water broke against its shoulders, and from 
the plashing of his webbed claws, I perceived that 
it partook of another nature. It was hideous and 
formidable beyond description, and of enormous 
size. It was gaining rapidly upon the man in the 
canoe; but he was now so near the shore, that 
there seemed a possibility he would escape. I 


280 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


would have given my right hand to help him ; but 
what could I do ? 

But the woman had seen, also, and she was not 
idle. She leaped to her feet with the lightness of a 
bird, at the same time snatching from the ground 
a bow and arrow. Then she sprang forward 
toward the shore, fitting the arrow to the string. 
She reached the margin of the sea just as the beast 
overtook the man. 

With one of its claws it struck the stem of the 
canoe, smashing it to fragments. The man was 
thrown into the water. He had in his hand a 
spear; the head, of chiseled fiint, fast bound to a 
shaft of tough and elastic wood. Returned in the 
water, and made a desperate thrust upward at his 
enemy. The point entered the beast’s body 
beneath the left shoulder, and there broke off. At 
the same moment the creature made a lunge at him, 
shattering his arm, and tearing open his right 
side. He floated helplessly in the water, and 
I expected to see him torn in pieces in another 
instant. 

But the woman, with her black hair flying about 
her, had halted knee-deep in the water, and drawn 
her arrow to the head. It flashed through the air, 
and penetrated the monster’s eye. With a roar of 


THE SWARTHY MAN^S STORY. 


281 


agony, blind and infuriated, he lashed the sea with 
his tail and arms, and stretched his fearful head 
hither and thither, seeking his victim. But the 
woman had swam out. to the man, and thrown 
her arms tenderly about him, and drawn him to 
the shore in safety. Then she lifted him, holding 
him to her bosom, and hastened up the declivity ; 
and, panting deeply, laid him down on a couch of 
skins within the wigwam. 

He was dying, and the end was near. When she 
had done all that could be done to relieve him, she 
sat beside him in silence, with one of his hands in 
hers. Their eyes met in a long gaze. I perceived, 
by my natural insight into their minds, that they 
were husband and wife, and that they were still in 
the early days of their union. But the long part- 
ing was at hand, and both knew it. 

It was singular that I felt no jealousy of the love 
which the woman bore the man, though I knew it 
to be the utmost love of her heart, and to be the 
love that lasts beyond the grave. So far from 
that, I identified myself with that love, and felt 
in no way defrauded by it. I, too, loved him, 
though wherefore I knew not. 

Presently she spoke to him. I understood what 
she said, though the words were such as no man. 


282 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


who has lived since history was written, has 
heard. But my perception passed beneath the 
sound, and comprehended the meaning. 

^‘Do you leave me alone forever? ’’ she asked. 
“Tell me, if you may; for has it not been said 
that, in the hour of death, the departing soul sees 
what is to come revealed before his eyes ; and, for 
that one hour, is given to know the future course 
of his destiny? Tell me, therefore, 0 beloved! and 
spare not the truth, out of pity for my loneliness 
The dying man gathered together the strength 
that remained to him. He was a magnificent 
creature, made in the finest mould of manhood; 
and his features had the same impressive innocence 
of expression, mingled with nobility and passion, 
that I had noticed in the woman. And, as I con- 
templated him, methought that he, too, was not 
unfamiliar to me. Was it because his face, with 
hers, embraced the human types which had been 
multiplied since their day, and therefore bore, to 
each one who looked upon them, the likeness of a 
dearest friend? or was it a more real and individ- 
ual resemblance? I could not tell; but, that I 
knew him and loved him I doubted not 

“Beloved,’^ he answered at last, in a voice that 
was as faint as a whisper, which she bent to hear. 


THE SWARTHY MAN’S STORY. 


283 


and wWcli I heard, as it were, through her ears. 

Beloved, our parting shall not be forever. God 
hath joined us, and our union shall never be 
broken. After the long rest, we shall live again, 
and live together. But it shall not be as we are 
now.” 

‘‘Shall I not always be your wife, and you my 
husband? ” 

“Our bodies,” he replied, “are made either male 
or female, and, as they are made, so do they live, 
and so perish. But the life of the soul is not so 
limited. It has m it the male, and also the female ; 
and, in the course of its journey, it takes on the 
bodily garment, first of the one and then of the 
other. So it shall come to pass, when you and I 
next meet in the flesh, you shall be the man, and I 
the woman ; and we shall have traversed the cir- 
cle of human existence, and know no other separa- 
tion forever.” 

“But shall we know each other when we meet 
thus attired?” she demanded. 

“ Truly we shall,” was his reply, “ and, moreover, 
a sign shall be given you. For when that far dis- 
tant time comes, that we go forth upon the earth 
once more, power shall be bestowed upon you 
(being then in the guise of a man) to look back 


284 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


into the past, and to behold what happened there 
as if it were still in being. And at that time you 
shall behold yourself and me as we now are ; and 
in the woman you shall know yourself as you first 
were; and in me, the woman whom you then love. 
So shall you be assured that the wife that you 
shall have chosen is no mere companion of an 
earthly lifetime, but was the help-mate appointed 
unto you from the beginning, and who shall abide 
with you, world everlasting.’’ 

As his voice died away, the scene grew dim before 
my eyes, and faded out of sight. All was darkness 
and silence around me, and I knew no more. 

When I came to myself, I saw Virginia’s face 
bending over , [ me. I had been ill for many 

mind clouded with the 
delirium. At first, 
I recollected 
I nothing clearly 
of my strange 
experience; but, 
by little and lit- 
tle, it came back 
to me. 

Was it a reality, or but a moribund phantom of 
the imagination, in which were presented, as in a 



THB SYMPOSIUM. 


285 


parable, the problems of self love, and of the love 
for another than self? I know not, nor does it 
greatly matter. If the woman of that primeval 
epoch were indeed myself, and if the man were 
indeed Virginia, or if both were but symbols of 
abstract truth, certain it is, at all events, that 
never was there a truer marriage than that 
between Virginia and me. I like to think that we 
have been together since the morning of time ; but 
it needs not that to assure me that our union is 
for everlasting. Together we form the complete 
human creature, as the Creator destined it to be. 

The abnormal powers which I had possessed, 
and which, upon the whole, had been more of a 
bane than a blessing, did not survive my illness. 
When I recovered my health, I discovered that 
clairvoyance, and all its attendant marvels, were, 
for me, things of the past. I have never regretted 
the loss of them. When I look in my wife^s face, I 
see there a deeper mystery, and a more precious 
possession than clairvoyance can ever reveal or 
bestow — ^the mystery and the possession of perfect 
love. 

« « * 

‘‘I’m inclined to the belief,” said a red-headed 
gentleman opposite, in a voice which made me sus- 


286 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


pect that he might be a representative of the Green 
Isle across the ocean, ‘^that aU phenomena of this 
character may be referred to the principle of hypno- 
sis. The moment we have reduced certain portions 
of the brain to a quiescent state, there’s nothing 
that mayn’t happen. Past, present and future 
get mixed up till you can’t tell one from the other. 
A man loses what we call his individuality, and 
becomes somebody else; the limitations of space 
are modified or obliterated; and the physical senses 
are replaced by a sort of universal perception 
which seems to act independently of the ordinary 
vibrations.” 

‘‘It strikes me, sir,” I ventured to remark, “that 
your explanation is not so much an explanation 
as a restatement of the same old mystery. In order 
really to account for these hypnotic phenomena, 
we must be able to say what the brain really is, 
and that involves giving a definition of matter, 
and indeed of the philosophy of creation itself.” 

“Well, man is a creature of language,” replied 
the red-headed gentleman, good-naturedly, “and 
we’re bound to give things iiames as fast as they 
turn up, the same as Father Adam named the 
beasts of the field and the birds of the air in the 
Garden of Eden, before you and I were born. I’m 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


287 


a graduate of Dublin University, sir, and went 
through the usual courses ; but I^m free to admit 
that the definition of matter and the philosophy 
of creation had not been subjected to scientific 
analysis at the time of my sojourn there. We 
advance by degrees, sir; we don^t get to the 
end of the journey till weVe been over all of the 
intermediate points. Hypnosis is a good enough 
word to conjure with while we ^re waiting for some 
genius to give us another ; and if you and the com- 
pany are agreeable, I^d like to tell you a bit of a 
tale of something that took place not long since in 
my own country, and concerning which, I may say 
beforehand that I was personally acquainted with 
two of the persons in it ; and nice people they are, 
too, and are now living in health and prosperity, 
God bless ^em, not far from where we are sitting.’’ 

There was a general murmur of agreeable antici- 
pation, and the red-headed gentleman, having 
rubbed his hands upward through his hair, byway 
of creating the electricity of inspiration, put his 
thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, directed 
his eyes toward the cornice, and related this 
strange story : 


288 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


THE irishman’s STORY. 



people are aware of 


Head, on the west coast • 
of Ireland. The coal- 


the existence of a small 
hostelry near Slyne 


black rocks and precip- 
itous promontories oi 


that desolate region render the scenery imposing ; 
and the storms, which are frequent, form a specta- 
cle that is nothing less than magnificent. The 
whole force of the Atlantic breaks against those 
awful cliffs, and the half-wild inhabitants of the 
region will tell you that, in winter, the spray is 
sometimes dashed three hundred feet in the air. 
Pishing is almost the sole occupation of the 
natives. The nearest railway station is at West- 
port, thirty miles away, whence the explorer must 
travel either on foot or upon the dilapidated 
‘^jaunting-car” that serves as a stage, and is 
driven by Pat Maguire, who is also the proprietor 
of the inn. But explorers are as few as snowflakes 
in June ; and for several years previous to the date 
of this story. Dr. Griffith Gramery had been the 
only visitor. 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


289 


The doctor was not a comely man. He had a 
big, square head, covered with grizzled red hair, 
which stood upright ; thick eyebrows hanging far 
down over a pair of small but extraordinarily 
piercing eyes; a large nose and mouth, and a 
broad, short chin. His head was set low down 
upon broad shoulders; his arms were long, but 
his body rather small and short. The peasants 
held him in superstitious awe and respect, believing 
him to be in league with Satan, probably because 
he had once or twice exercised upon them a 
remarkable magnetizing power that he possessed. 
But as all his dealings with them ^cn benefi- 
cent, they mingled their awe wi^^^ ^afiect^on. A man 
may be hand-in-glove with the Evil One, and yet a 
very good fello w at bottom. 

This season. Dr. Gramery arrived, as usual, 
about the first of October ; but he explained to Pat 
Maguire that a young lady and gentleman, 
friends of his, would come on the seventh of the 
month, and would expect Pat to be at Westport 
railway station to drive them over. The doctor, 
it seems, had met Mr. and Mrs. Roger Mowbray 
in London during the previous season, and had 
sung the praises of Slyne Head so eloquently that 
the young couple — they were in their honeymoon 


290 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


-had promised to come over and spend a weeh 
there. They proved as 
fVvgood as their word, 
and on the evening 
of the appointed 
day they drove 
tip on the j aunt- 
ing-car, and 
were cordially 
welcomed at 
the inn 
door 
by the 
doctor. 

The moon was 
close to the full, 
and the air soft and mild. After supper the three 
friends strolled out on the cliffs ; and Roger 
Mowbray and his wife both confessed that they 
had never seen so grand a sight. The rocks are 
full of caves, some midway in the face of inac- 
cessible precipices, some so low down as to be 
covered at high-water. The coast is everywhere 
jagged and irregular. Slyne Head itself is a bee- 
tling pinnacle of rock, overhanging its base, which 
is four hundred feet below its summit. The partjf 



THE irishman’s STORY. 


291 


made their way thither and sat down to con- 
template the prospect. The ocean, rising in its 
vast sweep to the horizon, was luminous beneath 
the moon; and where the surf broke on the 
ragged teeth of the rocks far below it looked like 
great drifts of snow against the blackness. 

‘‘How glorious and terrible it is!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Mowbray. “After this, I can understand 
and almost believe in all the legends of ghosts and 
hobgoblins that Ireland is famous for I” 

“None but spirits of light and loveliness should 
become visible to you, fair lady,” said the doctor, 
who had a courtly, chivalrous way with women, 
which, partly on account of the odd contrast with 
his ugliness and eccentricity, made him a favorite 
with the sex. “But the people hereabouts are cer- 
tainly very superstitious ; and, to confess the 
truth, I have occasionally amused myself by play- 
ing off a few juggleries upon them. They take me 
for a magician ; and it keeps them from bothering 
me when I want to be undisturbed. I have only 
to make a few cabalistic passes, and they run as if 
the devil were after them.” 

“I recollect your alluding, in London, to your 
powers in that direction,” observed Roger. “You 
promised to give us an illustration some time. 


292 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


What more fitting time could there be than this 
Oh, I wish you would, Dr. Gramery !” exclaimed 
Mrs. Mowbray. never saw anything of that 
sort.” 

And I fancy your husband doubts whether any- 
body ever saw anything of the sort,” returned the 
doctor, laughing, and fixing his brilliant eyes on 
the young man’s face. He is a skeptic.” 

‘^Say an agnostic,” rejoined Roger, with a smile, 
will believe what I see.” 

^Hf that be your only stipulation, I could easily 
astonish you,” the doctor answered. ‘^The eye- 
sight and all the senses are readily deceived. 
Moreover, unless I am much mistaken, yours is a 
temperament that lends itself to such impressions. 
I should expect to be more successful in deceiving 
you than your wife; though she looks half a 
spirit already, while you have the thews and 
sinews of an athlete.” 

^‘Well, all I can say is, I am prepared for the 
test,” replied Roger, still smiling, though with 
somewhat, of an effort. The doctor’s eyes had a 
singular sparkle. It was difficult to look away 
from them. 

For a full minute, the doctor remained silent and 
immovable, gazing in a preoccupied manner at 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


293 


Roger Mowbray, wbo gazed back at him. Mrs. 
Mowbray, meanwhile, had become interested in 
watching the flight of a great sea- ‘ 
bird, which, after poising itself in 
air on a level with their posi- 
tion, suddenly swooped down-i 
ward, and alighted on a , 
rock, surrounded by waves, 
near the foot of the cliff. 

‘‘Look at me!^^ abruptlyj 
cried the doctor, 
in a sharp, ini-,.fj[ 
perious tone, , 
springing 
his feet. “I am’ 
going to jump* 
down the preci- 
pice, and stand- 
beside that sea-^ 
fowl. Look! 

Roger Mowbray, 

I^m off.” 

Roger started up with a ^ 
gasp of horror and amaze- 
ment. “Good God! the man is killed!’^ he cried 
out in a wild tone. He stood gazing fearfully and 



294 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


breathlessly over the clifif, peering downward as if 
following the descent of a heavy body through the 
air. But after a moment he raised himself, trem- 
bling and aghast, the sweat standing on his fore- 
head. ^‘It’s a miracle!” he said, huskily; ^‘such 
a thing was never known! He fell four hundred 
feet, and now there he stands at the bottom, 
nodding and waving his hand ! Merciful Heaven ! 
what a thing to see ! ” 

^‘Why, Roger!” exclaimed his wife, half laughing 
and half alarmed, ^‘how absurdly you act! Any 
one would think you were crazy ! What are you 
saying about the doctor being down the clifif, 
when he has not moved a foot away from you? 
Why, what^s the matter with you?” 

Her husband paid not the slightest attention to 
her. He continued to stare down at the rock on 
which the sea-bird was seated, emitting ever and 
anon inarticulate ejaculations'. 

‘‘He does not hear you, Mrs. Mowbray,” 
remarked the doctor, speaking aside to her. “He 
is in what may be termed an abnormally imagina- 
tive state, in which one mistakes fancies for facts. 
He really believes that I jumped off the clifif and 
alighted on that rock; and nothing that you could 


TttE irishman’s story* 


295 


saj to him would change his conviction. Curious, 
is it not?’’ 

‘‘But what is the cause of it ? He was never like 
this before!” cried she, becoming more and more 
alarmed. ‘ ‘ Can nothing be done ? Roger I ’ ’ She 
laid her hand on her husband’s arm, but he moved 
away from her. “He doesn’t know me!” she 
exclaimed in terror. “ Oh, what shall I do ?” 

“My dear Mrs. Mowbray,” interposed the doc- 
tor, smiling comfortably in the moonlight, “give 
yourself no uneasiness ; it is the simplest thing in 
the world. Your husband is partially asleep, that 
is all. A certain portion of his brain — ^that which 
discriminates between truth and imagination — ^has 
temporarily ceased to operate ; it has been inhib- 
ited, to use the scientific term ; or, if you want 
another phrase, your husband is in a hypnotic 
trance. Of course you have heard of hypnotism, 
and you are aware how commonly it is now prac- 
ticed, and how amusing some ofits manifestations 
are. It also has the advantage of being entirely 
harmless. The trance can be broken as easily as it 
can be induced.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, but I do n’t like Roger to be hypnotized ! ’ ’ she 
protested, still agitated. “I want him to know 


296 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


me and hear me ! Please make him come back to 
me, Dr. Gramery.^^ 

‘‘Your word is law, my dear lady,” said the good 
doctor, with perfect amiability. 

He turned to the young man, 
and drawing him a little to 
one side appeared to whisper 
something in his ear. 

Then he clapped his hands 
sharply together, and 
out, “Hello, Mowbray! Here we 

Mowbray glanced up, yawned, passed his hand 
over his forehead, and then, looking at the doctor 
with evident perplexity, said : “ Are n’t you wet ? 

How did you get up here again ? ” 

“You see,” said the doctor, the next morning 
after they had talked and laughed a good deal 
over the event of the night before, “hypnotism is 
the real explanation of all the marvels of magic 
and enchantment that we read and hear about. 
The magician’s first act is to hypnotize the specta- 
tor or spectators; that done, they will see — ^imagine 
they see— any miracle he may choose to suggest to 
them.” 

“Do you mean to say,” demanded Roger, “that 



THE irishman’s STORY. 


297 


he can put more than one person at a time into the 
trance?’^ 

‘‘A hundred as easily as one; and perhaps a 
thousand more easily than a hundred. Why not ? 
Consider the phenomena of panic — the unreason- 
ing fear that seizes upon a multitude, though each 
separate man of the crowd, if alone, would have 
retained his presence of mind; or look at the wild 
enthusiasm or rage to which an eloquent orator 
can arouse a vast audience, though any one 
member of it would listen to him coldly. So I 
doubt not it would be easier to hypnotize a large 
assemblage than a single individual ; and the 
Eastern jugglers seem to do it. You have heard oi 
the famous Indian ‘Basket Trick,’ as it is called? 
There an audience of any number of persons sever- 
ally and collectively witness a transaction that 
their reason assures them is preposterously impos- 
sible, at the same time that their eyesight convinces 
them it takes place. What is the explanation? 
Simply, that they are all hypnotized before the 
trick is performed; and then, of course, the ‘trick’ 
Is reduced to merely inducing them to believe that 
something is done which is really not done at all.” 

“After my experience of last night, I don’t feel 
like disputing anything you say, doctor,” observed 


298 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


Roger Mowbray. ‘ ‘ But I should like toknowbow 
a man can hypnotize a crowd of people, and also 
how they can recover from the trance without 
recognizing that they have been in it.” 

‘‘If the conditions be favorable, nothing is more 
easily performed than hypnotism,” the doctor 
replied. “Simply to fix the attention for a few 
moments is often sufficient ; and any juggler can 
do that. I hypnotized you last night only by 
inducing you to look intently at me for sixty 
seconds. Then as to your second point, the trance 
may be of various degrees, from light to profound. 
The light trance is sufficient for complete self-decep- 
tion, and the transition from that to waking is so 
easy as not to be perceived.” 

“I certainly believed I saw you jump over the 
cliff,” said Roger, “and after I came to, I still 
could hardly persuade myself that you had not 
done it. Rachel, here, says she spoke to me, but I 
didn’t hear her. But is it not rather alarming 
that such a power as you possess should exist? ” 

“Indeed, if I didn’t know the doctor was a good 
man, I shouldn’t feel safe for a moment,” Rachel 
said. 

“Luckily, I am harmless,’^ remarked he, with a 
peculiar smile. “But there’s truth in your sugges- 


THE irishman's STORY. 


299 


tion, Mr. Mowbray. Hypnotism might give 
terrible powers. If I had told yon, last night, to 
jnmp over the cliff, yon wonld have done it, or if, 
while yon were still in the trance, I had com- 
manded yon to do, or to see, or not to see, a certain 
thing at a certain fntnre time, — say, at five o^clock 
this afternoon, — yon wonld have obeyed pnnc- 
tnally at the appointed honr, withont any farther 
action on my part.’^ 

Dear me!” said Rachel, with a nervons langh, 

remember yon whispered something to Roger 
last night, before yon woke him np. What did yon 
tell him to do ? ” 

‘‘Yon said a person conld be ordered ‘not to see’ 
anything,” broke in Roger. “Do yon mean that a 
concrete object conld be rendered actnally invisible 
to one in the hypnotic trance ? ” 

“Certainly!” replied the doctor. “Anything 
that is told to the patient, he is bonnd to believe. 
If I were to tell yon that the big tree yonder had 
been dng np and carried away, it wonld immedi- 
ately become invisible to yon; and neither y onr sense 
of tonch nor any other means conld persnade yon 
that there was anything there. Bnt I see this con- 
versation is distressing Mrs. Mowbray; let ns 


300 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


change it. Do you know, Mr. Mowbray, that you 
bear a strongresemblance to your late father? ” 

"‘I have been sometimes told so. But I was not 
aware that you knew him.” 

^‘Yes, I knew him well, many years ago, when 
we were both about your age. Afterward, circum- 
stances separated us. When I met you the other 
day in London the likeness startled me ; it was as 
if a buried generation had come to life again. Your 
father’s wife was a Miss Clayton, I think? ” 

‘‘Yes, that was my mother’s name.” 

“Ah ! I was not thinking of her as your mother. 
I do not trace her features in you. However, that 
is neither here nor there. Thinking over those old 
days has recalled another person to my mind — one 
John Felbrigge. I fancy you have never heard of 
him.” 

“I think I remember the name,” said Roger, 
“but I never saw him. Unless I’m mistaken, my 
father and he were not good friends.” 

“They were friends until, for some reason, they 
had a bitter quarrel, and parted. It was the gen- 
eral opinion that Felbrigge was in fault. He was 
certainly a cross-grained fellow, whereas your 
father was always very suave and engaging. The 
quarrel occurred before your father’s marriage. 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


301 


and the occasion of it, I think, was some affair of 
the heart. Naturally, Felbrigge would get worsted 
there 

What became of this Mr. Felbrigge? inquired 
Rachel. 

‘‘He was a student, and after the quarrel he 
devoted himself to abstruse researches, and lived 
on the Continent, and afterward in India. He 
ought to have died long since, I suppose.^’ 

“The woman in the case was not my mother, 
was it? ” asked Roger. 

“She was not the lady your father married, I 
think, the doctor replied. “ It was probably some 
earlier affair; he was a dangerous man, he added, 
laughing. “Now that I recollect, the other 
woman^s name was Mercy — yes, Mercy Holland. 
You never knew of her ? ’’ 

Mowbray shook his head. 

“No, of course not said the doctor. “And 
what interest have these old stories for you young 
people? Come, I have something to propose! 
What do you say to our taking our luncheon with 
us, and spending the day down on the rocks? 
There are some curious caves I want you to see ; 
and there is a romantic legend about one of them. 
Shall we go ? ’’ 


30^ 


SIX C^NT SAM^S. 


The others willingly consented, and they made 
their preparations and set ont. Instead of climb- 
ing to the top of Slyne Head, as on the previous 
.evening, they descended to the 
shore, above which the stupen- 
'dous crags hung as if about to 
le over. In a crevice of the 
^ just above high 
water mark, the 
doctor picked 
fragment of 
with a hand- 
t ached to it. 
slightly 
evidently 
left there 



up a 
chain 4 
cuff at' 

It was but 
rusted, and 
could have been 
but a short time 
before. Mowbray 
and his wife were much 
interested in the discovery, 
and speculated as to how it' 
could have got there. 

^Hs there a jail anywhere inthis neighborhood ? 
Roger inquired. 

‘‘None nearer than Galway, that I know of,^’ 
replied the doctor. “ But I believe there have been 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


303 


some evictions going on in this neighborhood, and 
this handcuff* may have been put on a prisoner 
who escaped. He must have had assistance in 
freeing himself from his fetters, however. This 
handcuff*, as you see, shuts by a spring, and can be 
opened only by taking two hands to it. The 
person to whom it was attached could not unfasten 
it unaided. It is certainly odd that the fugitive 
should have shaped his course in this direction. In 
these thinly settled regions concealment is more 
difficult than in cities.^’ 

^‘What a strange feeling it must be to be 
fastened to a chain, and know that you canT get 
away,” observed Rachel, examining the steel 
manacle with curiosity. 

People get used to even that,” rejoined the 
doctor; ‘^and after all, we are all fettered in 
some way, though the links may be invisible.” He 
put the relic in his pocket, and they continued their 
journey along the beach. The way was rough 
and tortuous, the bowlders lying irregularly, and 
the pebbles of which the beach was composed offer- 
ing a slippery and wearisome foothold. They were 
nearly an hour in going no more than a mile; but 
they were rewarded, at the end of their journey, by 
poming to a large cave, hollowed out in the sea^^ 


304 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


ward extremity of a promontory that formed one 
of the natural divisions of the beach. Its mouth 
was only about seven or eight feet in diameter ; 
but inside it expanded into a chamber of fair size 
and height, draped with seaweed, and pervaded 
by the clean, salt smell of the sea. The day had 
been somewhat close and oppressive, and the cool" 
ness of the cave was grateful, after their arduous 
walk. The interior was lighted up by the rays of 
the declining sun, for it was already afternoon. 

Using a large flat stone as a table, they unpacked 
their basket, and lunched at their leisure. The 
doctor was in capital spirits, and made himself 
highly agreeable. He related many stories of his 
own past life and adventures ; he had traveled in 
all parts of the world, and had lived several years 
in Northern India, where he had seen strange 
sights. Finally, the conversation got round to the 
spot where they then were, and the traditions con- 
nected with it. 

‘‘And, by the by, one of the best yarns is about 
this very cave,^’ he remarked. “Many years ago 
a powerful noble lived near Slyiie Head, and he 
married a young and beautiful woman. For a 
time, all appeared to go well ; but finally the hus- 
band bec^e suspicious of th^ attentions to his 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


305 


wife of a neighbor of his who was visiting him. 
He watehed, and his snspieions were eonfirmed. 
He concealed his emotions, whatever they were, 
and on some pretext invited his wife and the friend 
to this cave. He had had an iron ring fastened to 
the rock at the back part of the cave, with a chain 
attached to it. Pretending to be in sport, he 
induced them to let him fasten this chain around 
them, and then, telling them to be happy together 
to their hearts’ content, and replying to their 
shrieks and entreaties only by peals of laughter, he 
bade them farewell and left them. The tide was 
rising, and a storm was coming on. A couple of 
hours later the cave was submerged, and the lovers 
were, of course, drowned. What do you think of 
that legend, Mrs. Mowbray? Would you like to 
know what the young people said to each other, 
when they were left alone, and the first wave 
threw its spray over them?” 

‘Ht is fearful to think of,” said Rachel, with a 
shudder. ‘‘Was it really this very cave?” 

“Undpubtedly ; and if you want any further 
proof, the ring to which they were chained still 
hangs to the rock behind you. See — ^the sunlight 

has just reached it !” 

20 


3o6 


SIX CBNT SAM’s. 


Rachel turned with a start, and then all three 
approached the ring and examined it. It was 
hanging to a bolt driven into the face of the solid 
rock, at the furthest extremity of the cave. It was 



about seven inches in diameter, and appeared to 
beat least an inch in thickness, though it was so 
bearded with green seaweed and roughened with 
rust and limpets that an exact estimate was diflS- 
cult. At all events, it looked strong enough to 


THE IRISHMAN'S STORY. 


307 


hold an ox, much more a pair of terrified lovers. 
Beneath the ring was a shallow ledge, forming a 
rude seat, and Rachel, who was fascinated by the 
picturesque horror of the thing, sat down upon it. 
The setting sun shone on her charming face, and 
gave it the semblance of a rosy blush. Her husband 
thought she had never looked more lovely. 

The doctor took the handcuff from his pocket, 
and passed the chain through the ring, fastening it 
by springing one of the links over another. ‘‘ That 
will enable us to realize the situation better,^’ he 
remarked, turning to Roger with a smile, and put- 
ting the handcuff in his hand. ^Hmagine Mrs. 
Mowbray to be the lady in question, and you the 
wicked earl.” 

“Shall I manacle you, Rachel?” asked her hus- 
band, playfully. 

She held out her wrist at once. “ Do !” she said ; 
“I am not afraid.” 

“DonT be too sure of your nerves,” put in the 
doctor; “it might give you a turn.” 

“Oh, my husband will not desert me,” she 
replied. “Put it on, Roger.” 

He slipped it on and fastened it, “There — now 
you are a prisoner,” said he. 


308 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


‘‘And now all you have to do is to imagine that 
you are to stay there until this time to-morrow/^ 
the doctor added, “when some fisherman, perhaps, 
will discover your drowned and bruised body. You 
are looking for the last time on yonder setting sun. 
Do you hear the plunging of the surf? In another 
hour it will be at the mouth of the cave ; an hour 
more and it will have filled it to the roof You 
will be alone, and death will come slowly and 
frightfully. You will struggle and strain, and tug 
at your fetters ; the steel will cut into your flesh, 
but you cannot break it. The cold water will 
creep slowly to your knees, your waist, your 
throat. You will scream — ah! what screams! 
but the rocks will echo them back, and they will 
die away upon the sea. You will think of the sweet- 
ness of life, of your warm and familiar home, of the 
love of your friends, and of your husband — and 
then the wave will lap over your face and gurgle 
into your mouth, and strangle your breath; you 
will be nothing but a lump of lifeless flesh, and this 
pleasant, luxurious world will know you no 
more!^^ 

Doctor Gramery must have had a good deal of 
the actor’s talent ; he had begun his speech lightly 
enough, but as he went on his voice became hoarse 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


809 


and incisive ; he made strange gestures, and there 
was something terrible and ominous in his aspect. 
Rachel sat gazing at him with parted lips and 
widening eyes. As he finished she rose to her feet, 
and stretching out her hand to her husband, fal- 
tered : ‘‘Let me go ! ” 

By a sudden, forcible movement the doctor inter- 
posed himself between them . 

“Five o^clockl’Vhe exclaimed, in a stern, com- 
manding tone. 

Roger stood motionless for a few moments, while 
a dazed expression came over his face. The doctor 
now moved to one side; the husband and wife 
were within a couple of paces of each other, and 
his eyes rested upon her. But there was a queer, 
vague look in them, and presently he said, in a 
sluggish tone, “Where is Rachel?'^ 

“Herel am — ^here!” she exclaimed. “Here infront 
of you! What ails you, Roger? Takeoff this man- 
acle — ^it hurts me 1 Do nT you hear me ? 

“It is very odd,’^ said Roger, turning to the doc- 
tor. “What has become of Rachel ? She was here 
just now, and I didnT see her go out. How was 
it?'' 

“Mrs. Mowbray ? " responded the doctor, coolly. 
“Why, my dear fellow^ she just went out of the 


310 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


cave. Is it possible you did n^t notice her? See!’^ 
he added, pointing outward, ‘Hhere she stands on 
that rock at the entrance, beckoning to us! Come 
on, it^s getting damp, and we shall be catching 
our death of cold. We have a long walk before 
us.” 

The two men moved together toward the mouth 
of the cave, Roger walking like a man in a dream. 
Suddenly a piercing shriek filled the cave. ‘‘Roger! 
my husband ! my love ! Hear me ! Come to me !” 
Then came another shriek. 

Mowbray and the doctor were now at the 
mouth of the cave, and the latter pointed along 
the beach to the right. “There she goes !” he said. 
“Let us hurry and catch up with her. She will 
stumble among these slippery stones and hurt her- 
self.” 

“Oh, God!” said a husky voice, strained and 
unnatural. The chain rattled and strained ; there 
was a groan. Mowbray had moved out of sight. 
The doctor turned and looked into the cave with a 
hideous expression ; then he, too, vanished. 

A storm had been gathering during the after- 
noon, and soon after five o^clock it burst over 
Slyne Head, with frequent crashes of thunder and 


THE irishman’s STORY. 


311 


zigzags of lightning. The rain hissed down in tor- 



rents. 
Six o’clock 
nad passed 
when Roger 
Mowbray, his 
clothes soaked 
through, and a 
scared, drawn look 
L his face, walked has- 
tily into the inn, and called 
for Pat Maguire. After the 
summons had been repeated once or twice, with 
increasing emphasis, Mrs. Maguire appeared from 
the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. 
‘'What would ye be pleased to want, sorr?” said 
she. “Sure, Misther Maguire stepped out an hour 
ago; he was after fearin’ ye’d be eaught in the 


812 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


rain, and was warnin’ ye to come home he’d be. 
Didn’t ye meet him at all, at all?” 

‘^No. Has Mrs. Mowbray— my wife— has she 
returned ? ” 

‘^Yer wife, is it? Indade, then, she has not, sorr ! 
Ye’re the first in this night.” 

'^Doctor Gramery — ^has not he got back? We 
parted on the beach — ^he took another path up the 
cliff. Have you seen nothing of either of them ?” 

“Not I, Misther Mowbray — hide nor hair av 
’em. But there was a bit av a letter the doctor 
left this mornin’, an’ he was tellin’ Misther 
Maguire to give it ye at six o’clock — not sooner. 
Maybe that’ll explain things — more betoken ’tis six 
o’clock now, an’ afther. Wait till I fetch it ! ” 

She disappeared into the kitchen, and returned 
in a moment with a letter in her hands. Roger 
opened it, and this is what he read : 

“Roger Mowbray : — When you read this I shall have 
accomplished the purpose for which I brought you down 
here, and for which I have waited many years. You 
know me as Griffith Gramery, but my true name is John 
Felbrigge. Thirty years ago yourfather took away the 
woman I loved, Mercy Holland, and ruined her. She 
bore him a child; by his cruelty and neglect she died in 
childbed. At that time he had already married ; but his 
wife being an invalid, and incapable of raising up chil- 


THE irishman's STORY. 


313 


dren for him, he caused you to be put forward as her son, 
thereby keeping the estates in the family. But you have 
no more right to your name than any other base-born 
waif of the gutter. 

“I waited a long while for the proper time and means 
for retaliation; but when I heard that you were 
married, I saw my way. Last night I proved my 
power over you ; to-day, in the cave, I shall put it into 
practice. At the moment you read this, your wife, 
chained to the rock by the manacle I have provided for 
the purpose, will be drawing her last breath in loneliness 
and agony — an agony as great, I trust, as that which 
your father caused Mercy Holland to endure. And you, 
realizing that you abandoned her there, misled by the 
bewilderment I put upon your senses, will understand 
something of the despair I felt when I knew that 
the woman I would have made my wife had died 
in shame and misery. May you live to endure that 
despair as long as I have done ! As for me, you will 
never see me again. I have my place of retreat provided 
where I shall spend many years in ease and comfort, 
happy in the assurance that all I desired has been 
brought to pass. Blessed be hypnotism ! 

“Yours to command, 

“John Felbrigge." 

Roger Mowbray slowly laid the letter down on 
the table, and looked tip with a ghastly counte- 
nance. At that moment there was a hurried step 
on the threshold, a sound of voices, and the door 


314 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


was thrown open. In swept the storm^ with wind 
and rain ; a clap of thunder shook the house ; and 
there stood 


Pat Maguire, 
red in the face 
and breathless, 
and leaning on 
his arm, weak 
and tottering, 
her clothing 
drenched and 
torn, her wet 
hair hanging 
about her 
shoulders, 
her wrist 
bruised and 
bloody — there 
was Rachel 
Mowbray, res- 
cued at " ^ 
utmost need, 
with the sea leaping 
her very throat, by the worthy Irishman whom 
chance had brought within hearing of her final out- 



THE SYMPOSIUM. 


315 


cry. There she was, no phantom of a bewildered 
brain, but true flesh and blood, alive and safe— 
and in her husband^s arms ! 

Next morning, when the storm had cleared away, 
the dead body of Doctor Gramery, alias John 
Felbrigge, was found lying at the foot of Slyne 
Head, crushed and disfigured. How he came to 
his death, whether by aceident or design, was 
never known. He may have lost his way and 
missed his footing in the storm ; or the horror of 
the deed he had done may have proved too much 
even for his iron nerves, and he sought oblivion in 
suicide. He was buried where he fell, and the 
great elifif is his gravestone; but the peasants 
avoid the spot, and in the roaring of the waves 
they sometimes fancy that they catch the fearful 
outcry of a lost soul. 

•K* « « 

‘^Now, gentlemen,^’ said Sam, noticing that 
some of us were beginning to glance covertly at 
our watches, ‘‘we^re only at the beginning of the 
evening, and 111 have no one dropping out yet 
awhile on any pretext whatever. There’s a bowl 
of punch will be in here before long, in which we’ll 


316 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


drink long life to Old Father Christmas, and many 
another good old toast. And while we’re waiting 
for the punch to come, I think it would be no more 
than fair for my friend here on my right to give us 
an instance of some psychological phenomenon 
that can’t reasonably be referred to hypnosis. He 
has challenged the last speaker’s position, and we 
are justified in assuming that he has something 
more acceptable to substitute for it.” 

As Sam said these words, he turned in his chair 
and fixed upon me the penetrating and inimitable 
glance of those powerful eyes of his, whose com- 
pelling influence I had first felt on the occasion of 
my introduction to the little eating house, years 
ago, by the genial and mysterious Northam. I 
looked round the table, and perceived that Sam 
evidently had the house with him; there was 
nothing for it but to get out of the scrape as best 
I might. Now it so chanced that I had very lately 
been the witness of an incident which had caused 
me a great deal of speculation; it was something 
out of the common run, and would, I thought, 
serve as well as anything else to enable me to make 
a graceful retreat. So, without more ado, I pro- 
ceeded, as briefly as possible, to tell my attentive 
audience 


MY OWN STORY. 


317 


MY OWN STORY. 


WAS on my way to witness 
Professor Palliser’s won- 
derful experiment. The 
experiment was a 
new one, and had never 
before been exhibited. 
Hastening along with my 
head down, I came into col- 
lision with my old friend 
Colbran, whom I had not 
seen for three years, 
though his fame had 
reached me from abroad, 
where he was acknowledged 
to be the greatest baritone 
singer of his time. He con- 
sented to go with me, and 
we entered the professor’s laboratory together. 

The apparatus was very simple ; a structure of 
vibrating strings and resounding metallic surfaces, 
the whole about the size of an ordinary revolving 
bookstand. It was supported on a low cylinder 



318 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


of Mexican onyx, on the top of which rested a 
butterfly some nine inches across the wings. It 
was not a real butterfly, but a beautiful and skill- 
ful piece of mechanism, as we perceived on handling 
it. It was made chiefly of gold, and weighed, I 
suppose, about eight ounces. 

The professor explained to us the principle on 
which he was working, and told us what he was 
going to do. Colbran listened very closely, and 
seemed to grasp the central idea. 

‘^Is not this coming very close tolife? he finally 
asked. 

‘ ‘ Life, replied the professor, ^Smplies what we 
call emotion. Love is the most subtle and search- 
ing of all vibrations. Between that and the 
etheric phenomena there is a gulf not yet bridged. 
I am already able to set material objects in motion 
by acting upon the atomic particles or molecules of 
which they are composed. I expect ultimately to 
be able to create material substances out of ether. 
But to instill life is a step beyond that. Life can 
proceed only from life, directed and energized by 
love. The process will probably turn out to be of 
the most elemental simplicity, like all things 
supremely great ; it may be on the lines on which I 


MV OWN STORY. 


S19 


set in motion 


am now working. But it is still, and may always 
remain a mystery. 

Here the professor took up an instrument some- 
what resembling an antique lute, and tried 
the strings with a bow. Then, going to 
the apparatus I have described, he 
a small object attached to its 
top ; it revolved rapidly on a vertical axis, emit- 
ting a clear note like a humming top. Standing 
in front of the apparatus, he began to play a 
simple tune on the lute, to which 
the strings and metallic sur- 
f aces of the apparatus returned 
a resonant echo. Several 
times he varied the pitch. 

Suddenly a penetrat- 
ing, harmonious 
note rang out, 
and the golden 
butterfly stirred, 
and moved its wings. 

The professor continued 
to play vigorously. The 
■butterfly lifted itself in 
the air, fluttered upward to the height of a couple 
of feet, remained hovering suspended there for 



320 


SIX CENT SAM'S. 


several seconds, and then fell slowly to the floor. 

^‘Have you any objections to letting me try, pro- 
fessor,” asked Colbran. ‘‘It seems to me that the 
human voice may have a power in this direction 
that would be worth vStudying.” 

“I beg you will proceed,” the professor replied 
courteously, but with a slight smile. He replaced 
the butterfly on the column, and handed Colbran 
the lute. 

“No; I shall try to dispense with that,” said 
the latter, “If my notion has any basis in truth 
the vocal chords are the only instrument required.” 

Standing erect in the center of the room, he sent 
forth his voice in a note that vibrated in our ears 
with the clearness of a silver trumpet, but much 
finer in quality. He sang no words, but simply 
ascended and descended the scale in varying modu- 
lations. What ensued was extraordinary. The 
butterfly rose from the pillar, waving it wings 
with long, tranquil strokes, and soared lightly 
upward. Just before it brushed the ceiling, Colbran 
struck a new key, and the golden insect, as if in 
response to a summons, changed its course and 
came hovering above his head. Again a change ; 
it flitted hither and thither about the room, now 
approaching, now retreating from one or other 


MY OWN STORY. 


321 


of US, seemingly in obedience to tbe silent impulse 
of Colbran’s will. 

‘‘I Have promised some friends to call on them 
this evening,’’ said I, when we were again in the 
.street. ‘‘I want you to come with me, and make 
their acquaintance.” 

We were admitted to the house only to hear sad 
tidings. The little girl had been attacked by 
teething convulsions the night before, and had 
just died. It was the grief stricken father who 
told us this. They took us to an inner room, 
where the little body was lying on its white 
couch. 

'‘What is her name? ” Colbran asked, at length. 

“Helen, ’’said the mother. 

“Her spirit should not be far from us, as yet,” 
said he. 

“The gulf is none the less deep for being recent,” 
was the father’s sad answer. 

“There is no gulf so deep that love may not 
cross it,” said Colbran. “Can you believe 
that the faith and will of united human spirits may 
make itself felt even by those who have passed to 
a sphere of life above the mortal? ” 

The father shook his head gloomily; but the 

mother, looking up at the great singer with 
21 


322 


SIX CENT SAM^S. 


tremulous lips and streaming eyes, faltered out: 

feel that she is near us ; but who can call her 
back?’’ 

^‘With God’s help,” replied Colbran, solemnly, 
‘‘I will try.” 

He lifted up his head, and presently his voice 
vibrated on the still air. As before, there did not 
seem to be 
and yet I 
in those deep, 
searching, rejoic- 
ing chords I could 
trace the varied repetition of 
Helen’s name. Ah, what a 
voice was that ! Strong as the 
thunder of the ocean, gentle and 
sweet as the sighing of ^^olian 
harp-strings ; methought I had 
never known what music was 
till now. The melody 
thrilled the nerves and 
glowed in the pulses ; 
and as the singer pro- 
ceeded, he flung his 
strains, until it seemed 
come from heaven to utter themselves through his 



MY OWN STORY. 


323 


lips. No description can convey the penetrating, 
reviving, uplifting potency of that song. Its 
power was almost awful, and yet so tender that it 
drew tears t6 the eyes — tears, and smiles such as 
are born only of tears like these. 

And now came a piercing cry from the mother. 

‘^She moves! She is breathing! 0 God! she is 
alive!” 

I looked in awe. Slowly the pale cheeks became 
pink, the soft lips parted and trembled, the little 
bosom stirred beneath its white drapery ; and as 
the last notes of that mighty and mysterious song 
died away, little Helen opened her eyes and was 
in this world once more. 

I felt a hand on my arm, and Colbran drew me 
out of the room. The father and mother were 
blind to everything but their unspeakable happi- 
ness. 

‘^What are you? What have you done?” I 
said. 

The week of Christmas had begun. All the stars 
were out, and the chimes were ringing in the 
steeples. 

“I know nothing,” said Colbran. “Men are 
sometimes the messengers of God. This is the 


324 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


anniYersary of tlie greatest mystery; bnt, from the 
beginning to the end, God is with us always.” 

* * * 

‘^Upon my word, sir,” said the red-headed Irish- 
man, chivalrously, “youVe given us something to 
think of that’s away above the plane of hypno- 
sis altogether. And I tell you frankly, I rejoice 
in the little discussion we had, if only because it 
was the occasion of introducing us to your friend 
Colbran. Faith, he ought to be one of us.” 

‘‘And now, gentlemen,” said Sam, rising, “if 
you’ll excuse me for a moment. I’ll step out and 
see about that punch.” 

He left the room, and we, left to ourselves, drifted 
into general conversation. I began a dialogue 
with the unseen gentleman (who had now become 
visible) on the subject of Sam himself. 

“As a matter of fact, what is he, and what is 
his end in life? ” I asked. “He is all things to all 
men and yet he is of all men I know perhaps 
the simplest and most straightforward. What 
can be the reason that one of his ability and 
resource should keep a six-cent eating house and 
a pawn-shop ? Such a man might, if he chose, 
stand at the head of some vast industrial enter- 
prise ; or he might, if he would condescend to such 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


325 


a thing, be president of the United States. There 
is nothing he could not do, and do well ; and yet 
he hides himself in such a place and position as 
this.” 

“The most powerful men in the world, there is 
reason to believe,” replied my interlocutor, “have 
not always, or often, been those whose attitude in 
the public eye was most conspicuous. The great- 
est forces, both human and natural, are the invisi- 
ble ones. It is not easy to overestimate how much 
he sacrifices who puts himself where the world can 
see and criticise him. The ideal life, both for hap- 
piness and eflSciency, is the unseen life. What 
greater power has mankind developed than the 
power of democracy? And what power is so 
secret and inscrutable ? Now, to my thinking, our 
friend Siam is the incarnation of democracy ; not, 
of course, of that particular political party which, 
for temporary reasons, assumes that title ; but ot 
the essential, immortal democracy that embraces 
whatever in human life is free, wise, and happy. 
We can^t measure his influenee, or estimate his 
ability ; he may seem to neglect all that we esteem 
valuable, and to interest himself in matters that 
we think trifling. Nevertheless, he is the man of the 


326 


Six cnuT sAM^s. 


age and the man of the future, and the circum- 
stance that he sells cheap lunches and issues pledges 
for old clothing only serves to show that he repre- 
sents the people instead of merely himself.’^ 

Before I had time to think of the proper rejoin- 
der to these queer observations, the door opened 
and in came Sam, and — ^what ? Yes, positively, he 
had a lady on his arm. 

Now, the mere fact that Sam had a lady on his 
arm would not, as the diligent student of these 
reminiscences is aware, have necessarily awakened 
any special amazement in our minds. But that he 
should introduce a lady — and such a lady as this 
was— in that place and at that time, was certainly 
startling. Who was she? Whence was she? 
What was she here for ? 

After the first moment of surprise was ;^st, we 
all rose to our feet as one man. Had you yourself 
had the good fortune to see the lady, you would 
have understood that this action was not the 
result simply of the instinctive reverence that every 
American gentleman feels for anything in the shape 
of womanhood, but was due, in addition, to the 
fact that this particular representative of the sex 
was one of those who would command respect. 


I^HE SYMPOSIUM. 


327 


service and admiration from tlie veriest boors that 
ever existed. She was a lady in the most exacting 
sense of the term; beautiful, graceful, gracious, 
distinguished, and withal charming, winning, and 
lovable in the highest degree. 

And she possessed still another characteristic 
that commanded our homage. Not only did each 
one of us recognize in her those qualities that were 
to him especially attractive in woman, but also it 
was somehow borne in upon us all that she was 
singularly and peculiarly fitted to be the counter- 
part and fellow-being of Sam himself. She was, so 
to say, his interpretation and reflection in feminine 
form; she belonged to him by nature; and Sam, 
able and unconquerable though he always was, 
had never appeared so thoroughly himself— never so 
complete and satisfactory — as he did when stand- 
ing there with this superb creature smiling and 
blushing on his arm. They were a pair, if ever 
there was one; and nobody was in the least 
unprepared for the words which Sam now 
uttered : 

‘^My friends,’^ quoth he, ‘‘I have the pleasure of 
presenting to you my wife.” 

We all gathered round them, and were made 


328 


SIX CENT SAM’s. 


known to her personally, one after the other. It 
was not long before we felt as if we had known 
her as long as we had known Sam. She had the 
art of friendly cordiality, and she seemed 
acquainted with us beforehand. She said to each 
of us the thing, whatever it was, that made him 
conscious that he was understood and liked. What 
a wonderful thing a good, beautiful, human 
woman is, to be sure ! How she clears and sweet- 
ens the atmosphere, and calls out the best man- 
hood of every true man ! How many women are 
there who, coming unexpectedly in upon a party of 
men at the end of such a dinner as we had just 
enjoyed, would not have created embarrassment 
and uneasy artificiality? But Mrs. Sam had just 
the opposite effect ; we now realized that the din- 
ner would have gone for nothing had it not been 
crowned and consummated by this rare and 
delightful rose of bridal loveliness. 

Well, we took our seats again, and I had the felic- 
ity and distinction of sitting next to Mrs. Sam, 
who sat next her husband. And now the bowl of 
punch was brought in, smoking and fragrant. It 
was the best of punches, but after Mrs. Sam, any- 
thing, no matter what, would have been an anti- 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


329 


climax. However, she ladled it out to us with her 
own white, beautiful hands, and we all stood up 



tury or two at least. 

I don^t know what time it came to be ; but Mrs. 
Sam looked so fresh and rosy and hospitable that, 
to look at her, it always seemed as if the evening 


830 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


must be only just beginning. However, I suppose 
at last it was borne in upon our minds that we 
had not been invited to breakfast, and that, if we 
were to go at all, we must go speedily. Then Sam 
stood up to say the parting words : 

‘‘My dear friends and good fellows,” said he, “it 
is only in one sense that this can be considered a 
farewell. It wonT be the fault of my wife and 
myself if we donT meet again, soon and often; our 
house will always be open to you, and the sooner 
you make yourselves at home there the better we 
shall like it. But this is the last time we shall see 
you in the room in which we now sit ; to-morrow, 
this house passes into the possession of a new 
owner, and Six Cent Sam’s will become a memory 
of the past. That chapter of my life is closed, and 
henceforth I enter upon a new one. 

“There are more ways than one of being useful 
in this world; I have thought that, even in this 
country, where men have better chances to be useful 
than in any other, they were sometimes kept from 
it by traditions and prejudices which once were 
good, perhaps, but have outlived their time. Men, 
I thought, ought to come nearer to one another ; 
artificial distinctions ought to be ignored, and 
we should attempt to bring about a brotherly 


THE SYMPOSIUM. 


331 


feeling, the better to fight the evil in the world and 
promote the good. Man is meant to stand with 
his feet on the earth ; whoever tries to lift himself 
too high above it, loses strength jnst as much as 
does he who sinks beneath it. But I^m not going 
to preach philosophy to you, nor to relate my 
autobiography ; you know as much of me as it is 
worth anybody's while to know. When, some 
years ago, I came to these convictions, I had been 
looking forward to a happiness which to-night, I 
thank my Maker, sits here beside me. But I 
thought that I should not be worthy of that hap- 
piness until I had done something to give practical 
proof of the faith that was in me; so I left the 
place in which accident and fortune put me, and 
lived the life which you all have seen, and in which 
I have been honored by your friendship. 

‘‘Now that it is over, and the blessing of my life 
has come to me, I look forward to no idleness and 
indulgence, but I feel that I have before me a 
greater and harder work than ever, and one that 
I could not accomplish without the help and sym- 
pathy of this wife of mine. We shall not give the 
people cheap things to eat, nor advance them 
money on humble security, but we shall enter into 
a larger and more complex society, to deal with 


332 


SIX CENT SAM’S. 


which more skill, knowledge, and charity are 
needed. I could not enter upon it with confidence 
alone; but with this companion beside me, I am 
not afraid, for she is what I most aspire to be, and 
she will not allow me to forget the words of the 
good, immortal Book, ^ of him to whom much has 
been given, much will be required.’ ” 

<K- « « 

It is not very long since this event occurred; 
but enough time has passed to show that 
Sam and his wife will be as good as their word. It 
would need another volume to tell all that this 
means; but whoever has realized what is best and 
most real in the life of the American people, will 
know of what nature the contents of such a book 
would be. 


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By Alessandro Filippini, of Delmonico’s. 16mo, 
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ONE HUNDRED WAYS OF COOKING AND 
SERVING FISH. 

By Alessandro Filippini, of Delmonico’s. 16mo, 


128 pages. Neatly bound in cloth 50c 

PLAN OF THE AGES, THE. 

A helping hand for Bible students. 12mo, leath- 
erette 50e 


RECOLLECTION OF THE PRIVATE LIFE OF 
NAPOLEON. 

By Constant, Premier Valet de Chambre. Trans- 
lated by Walter Clark. Illustrated, 8vo, cloth, 


gilt top, 3 vols. in box $7.50 

REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY. 

By Edward Stratemeyer. Illustrated, large 
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PUBLICATIONS OP THE MERRIAM COMPANY 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE. 

By Edward Stratemeyer. Illustrated, large 

square 12mo, cloth $1.25 

“This is a boy’s book and one calculated to 
warm the heart, fill it with good motives, and 
freshen and brighten the pathway of any dis- 
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RIVER AND WILDERNESS SERIES, THE. 

The River Fughtives. 

The Wilderness Fugitives. 

Lena-Wingo, THE Mohawk. 

By Edward S. Ellis. Illustrated, 12mo, cloth. 


per vol .$1.25 

Per set in box 3.75 

ROMANCE OF A SCHOOLBOY, THE. 

By Mary A. Denison. Illustrated, 12mo, 

cloth $1.50 


“The Romance of a Schoolboy” is unobjection- 
able in moral tone, its tendency is to elevate and 
ennoble; and yet it is full of interesting adven- 
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ROMANCE OF THE SWORD, THE 

A Napoleonic novel. Translated from the French 
of Georges Duval by Mary J. Safford. 12mo, 
cloth $1.50 

SELECT CONVERSATIONS WITH AN UNCLE. 
Bright crisp satires. By H. G. Wells. 12mo, 
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SHIELD OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS, THE. 

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]pHE MOST POPULAR BOOK EVER PUBLISHED 

NOW IN ITS 1830 THOUSAND 

A Little . . . 

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BY 

MARIE ST. FELIX 

DE SIECLE novel in the form of a terse and brilliant 
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